


Nevermore To Be Alone

by msmarvelftw



Series: The Soldier's Comin' Home [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Is a History Nerd, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Teacher Steve Rogers, letter writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7257709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmarvelftw/pseuds/msmarvelftw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes bumps into Steve Rogers three hours before he flies to Georgia for Army Basic Training. Three years later, they're still going strong. Enter a lot of letter writing, some losers who somehow got into Special Forces, and two sarcastic nerds in love. </p><p>Title stolen from "Travelin' Soldier" by Dixie Chicks, which this fic was also shamelessly inspired by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is your standard Stucky letter writing fic. This first chapter is kind of a prologue, seeing as there's a three-year difference between this and the next one. The tenth chapter is sort of an epilogue since it skips another three years. Basically I have a thing for time skips, I don't know why. 
> 
> Also, my tendency to stick Marvel characters in the food service industry has struck again: meet Steve the waiter and Darcy the waitress. 
> 
> I actually have a beta (*gasp*) so if there's any mistakes in here, just blame her. (Just kidding. Sort of.)
> 
> Let me know what you think.

Bucky shifted in his booth, hands quivering as he poured a packet of sugar into his coffee and gulped it down. He ran a hand through his hair. He’d spent thirty minutes that morning smoothing it down and making it look as neat as possible. It’d gotten messed up in a quarter of the time.

The hot waiter walked by him again. Bucky managed to tilt the corners of his mouth into something that would pass as a smile.

The waiter— _ Steve,  _ he’d said—was the kind of guy Bucky would’ve been too intimidated to ask out in high school. Tall and beefy, with a sharp jaw and cheekbones and eyes bluer than the lake at Bucky’s grandpa’s farm. The tips of tattoos peeked out from underneath the cuff of his sweater, which he’d rolled up to expose his muscular forearms. But he was friendly, and chatted amiably with every person in the café, and unlike most people he seemed to genuinely care.

Well, Bucky had a couple hours, and nothing to lose. Might as well go for it.

“Excuse me?” he said, and Steve hurried over, giving him a big grin.

“Need more coffee?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Steve laughed. Bucky nearly swooned at the sound of it. “Little forward, aren’t you?”

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe.”

Steve swept an eye over him. “You got a name?”

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Bucky.”

“’S short for Buchanan.”

“Your name is Buchanan Barnes?”

“ _ James _ Buchanan Barnes, actually.” Bucky grinned at him. “You make fun of every guy who asks you out?”

“Pretty much.” Steve held out a hand, which Bucky shook. “Steve Rogers.”

“Good to meet ya, Steve.”

“Good to meet you too, Bucky. Maybe you can give me your number, I’ll have my friend internet-stalk you, and then we can talk about that date,” he said with a teasing grin.

Bucky’s stomach sank. “I, uh…” He ran his hand through his hair again. “I sorta only have the next three hours.”

“That have something to do with the duffel bag?”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Yup.”

Steve nodded and checked his watch. “I get off in twenty minutes,” he said. “Are you a murderer or rapist?”

“No.”

“Then we should be good for the date.”

Bucky’s eyes widened and Steve laughed at him, walking away towards the register. “Better have something good planned!” he called over his shoulder.

Bucky’s heart was pounding. He hadn’t expected Steve to actually  _ say yes _ . The entire twenty minutes were spent fighting his own nerves and staring at his empty coffee cup, wondering where to take him.

Steve finally came up to him, nametag discarded, and said, “Where to, Buck?”

“Uh, lunch? Maybe? I don’t know what’s around here or anything—“

“Lunch sounds great,” Steve said, thankfully cutting Bucky off. “There’s a little diner I like near here, if that’s okay with you.”

Bucky nodded, grabbed his duffel, and followed Steve out of the café into the cold December air. Steve looked at ease as they slid through the crowd in a way that screamed of a native New Yorker.

“Alright, so, first date basics,” Steve said. “Hometown, family, occupation.”

“Uh, I was born here in Brooklyn. My parents died when I was younger but I have a sister who lives in Detroit. And”—he held up the duffel bag—“I’m about to leave for Army Basic.”

“Thank you in advance for your service.”

Bucky shrugged. “I got a Master’s in History, and that doesn’t really open up a ton of job opportunities, so I’m just doing this until I figure something out.”

Steve smiled. “It’s still admirable.” Then, mercifully changing the subject, “Where in Brooklyn did you grow up?”

“Red Hook.”

“No kidding. Me too.”

“P.S. 15?”

“Yup. Funny, seems like I would’ve remembered you.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah,  _ I’m  _ the one out of the two of us that sticks in the brain.”

Steve ducked his head as a blush blossomed across his cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck. It was the most adorable thing Bucky’d ever seen in his life.

“I was a really skinny kid in high school. Like,  _ really  _ skinny. And I picked fights with just about everything in my path.”

Bucky’s eyebrows creased. “Wait, were you the kid in the grade below mine that yelled at Mr. Pierce in Political Science?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Wow. You’re my hero.”

Steve gave a little bow, and Bucky grinned.

“Okay, so, I believe you owe me info on your family and occupation.”

“Well, I don’t really have a family. My dad died before I was born, and my mom died a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, because it seemed like the right thing.

Steve smiled softly at him. “Thanks. Anyway, I’m an art teacher at a high school in Red Hook, and I work at the café on weekends and during summers. I’ve also got some paintings going in a gallery in Manhattan in a few months.”

“You know, there is such a thing as free time.”

Steve blushed again. “I, um…I just got over cancer about six months ago, and I’m still paying off medical bills, and I’m trying to save up to go back to art school and get a Master’s, so.”

“What kind of cancer?”

“Leukemia.”

“Are you okay now?”

“Yeah, I’m in remission. It just ate up a lot of money I didn’t have.”

Bucky wasn’t really sure what to say, but figured Steve would appreciate a subject change. “What kind of art do you do?”

Steve’s eyes instantly lit up.  _ Note to self: make his face look like that alway _ s.

“I do realism paintings. Sort of Edward Hopper-esque?”

Bucky nodded, although he had no idea who Edward Hopper was. He’d just have to learn.

“I add in more detail than he did, and we’re not really similar in terms of color and light and all that, but he was a big inspiration to me when I was first starting out.”

_ Just nod along. _

“But anyway, I do a lot of people-watching, do paintings off my sketches. I draw some fanart sometimes. A lot of stuff of Brooklyn. Whatever I just can’t help but paint.”

“I can’t even draw a decent stick figure.”

Steve laughed at that, and said, “I’ll just have to teach you then. Diner’s right here.”

They stepped inside and Bucky sighed at the sudden burst of hot air, seeping the chill from his bones. He peeled off his jacket, scarf, and gloves, and Steve guided him towards a booth near the back of the diner.

“You seem cold,” he said as Bucky shivered in his seat.

“Why aren’t  _ you  _ cold?” Bucky shot back, piling his winter stuff on top of his duffel bag.

“It’s not that bad out.”

“It’s 30 degrees, Steve.”

Steve shrugged. He was just wearing his sweater, sleeves still partly rolled up, and a pair of slim jeans. By all logic, he should be turning blue at that point.

A waitress walked up to them with a smirk on her face and said, “Did you finally manage to get a date?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Darcy, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is the spawn of Satan.”

“You love me,” Darcy teased. “Two usuals for you and Buckaroo?”

Bucky’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the nickname. Darcy blew him a kiss.

“Stop terrorizing him,” Steve admonished. “Buck, you alright with a burger?”

“As long as it doesn’t have peanuts, I’m good.”

“Alright then. Darcy, two burgers with fries and Pepsis.”

“You’re a monster,” Bucky said to Steve, then told Darcy, “Make my drink a Coke.”

“Better hang on to him, Rogers, someone needs to fix your soda preferences.”

Steve glared at her. Darcy winked at him and walked back to the kitchen while exaggeratedly swinging her hips.

“Now that she’s gone,” Steve said, pushing up his sweater sleeves even further, “I wanted to ask—why were you just sitting in a café with your luggage three hours before you had to leave for the airport?”

“Funny deflecting answer or real answer?”

“Both.”

“I knew I’d be running into you and wanted to have a change of clothes on hand,” Bucky said flirtatiously, and Steve let out a loud laugh, eyes squeezing shut and hands clutching at his stomach.

“That’s terrible,” he informed Bucky, still giggling. “Your real answer’d better be good.”

“Uh, well—my apartment was already emptied out, and…I’m a tiny bit nervous?”

“Perfectly understandable.”

“I guess. I just figured it’d be better if I walked around or did something instead of just sitting inside my empty apartment for hours.”

“Makes sense.”

Bucky shifted in his seat. “I’m really nervous. I get that we’re basically strangers, but…”

“I just have one of those faces,” Steve said, fluttering his ridiculously-long eyelashes.

Bucky smiled at that. “Yeah. It’s…it’s not weird to be nervous, right?”

“Of course not. It is just Basic Training, so as long as you don’t blow up yourself up putting your boots on I don’t think you’ll be in any danger. But it’s different, and it’s perfectly reasonable to be more than a little nervous.” Steve smiled at him. “Maybe I can distract you?”

“How so?”

“I usually have a list of stuff I ask about on first dates.”

Bucky grinned. “You interrogate your dates?”

“Of course not! They just come up naturally in conversation?”

“Really.”

“Jerk,” Steve said, but there was no malice behind it, just a small smile. “I’m not even going to bother to make it natural for you.”

“I feel like there’s an innuendo somewhere in there.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Star Wars or Star Trek?”

“Both.”

“Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Both.”

“Cake or pie?”

“Both!”

Steve laughed again. “You do know there’s other options, right?”

“Steve, when offered food and awesome movie franchises, I will always choose both.”

“See, I know you better already.” Steve did that cute thing with his eyelashes again, though it didn’t seem like it was on purpose. “Birthday?”

“March 10 th . Yours?”

“July 4 th .”

“Your birthday is Independence Day?”

“You gonna tease me about it?” Steve asked lightly. Something in his eyes, though, seemed to be preparing for battle.

“Nope,” said Bucky. “My birthday’s National Napping Day, so I understand what it’s like to share with an important holiday.”

Steve giggled, which Bucky didn’t expect to be so cute (the man was just a walking personification of the word), and he relaxed again.

“That is a big one,” he said. “I observe it every year.”

“I don’t mean to brag, but my teachers always praised my parents for my ability to nap in every class except History.”

“Well, that  _ is  _ the most exciting class.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Is that sarcasm I detect, Rogers?” Steve just shrugged, grinning. “History is awesome.”

“Did you specialize in any specific time period?”

“No, but I’m really interested in, like, 1850 to 1950. More complex ideologies, interesting geopolitical landscape, just complicated enough to be rewarding to study without being utterly mind-boggling like things are today.”

Steve smiled. “Talk history to me.”

“Be careful what you wish for. If you don’t shut me up, I won’t stop.”

“Okay.”

Bucky looked at him a little uncertainly. Steve was leaning forward, elbows propped up on the table between them, meeting his eyes with an expression of interest and curiosity.

“Okay, then. Um, you mind World War Two?” Steve shook his head. “Alright, so first off, Guadalcanal...“

Bucky talked about the Pacific Theater of World War Two until their burgers came, at which point he granted Steve a well-deserved silence while they ate. “Didn’t mean to talk your ear off,” he said around a mouthful of fries.

“It was fascinating,” Steve said. He poured another dollop of ketchup on his burger. “And it’s obviously a passion of yours.”

“We can go back to normal first date stuff now.”

“Okay. Favorite color?”

“Uh…blue.” He gestured vaguely. “About the color of your eyes.”

Steve’s cheeks tinged pink and he smiled. His eyes really were stunning. They were the color of a clear blue topaz (Bucky’s sister went through a gemstone phase) and sparkled with life. His stupidly long eyelashes framed them, made them look a little bigger than they probably were. They were expressive, too; instead of wearing his heart on his sleeve, Steve held it in his eyes.

It kind of sucked Bucky only had a few hours left to look at them.

“I don’t really have a favorite color,” Steve said. “I’m an artist, that’d be like choosing a favorite child.”

“Please, every parent has a favorite child. I would know, I wasn’t one.” Before Steve could get a question out he continued, “Which one do you like the  _ least?” _

Steve hesitated, ate more of his burger. “Red,” he said finally.

“Red?”

“My mom had AIDS,” Steve said quietly, staring at his burger. “Towards the end, she was so weak…she ended up developing TB. I was still going through chemo at the time so we didn’t have a lot of money—or any, really—and she refused to get better treatment if it meant I couldn’t get chemo. She was coughing up blood all the time, and it was just this bright, thick red…” He trailed off and took a long drink of his soda.

“Do you have it?” Bucky asked, unsure what else to do.

“AIDS? No.” Steve rubbed the side of his face. He looked very tired. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to mess things up.”

“You didn’t.” Steve gave him a look. “I’m serious,” Bucky insisted, “you didn’t. The whole point of a first date is to learn more about the other person, right? Now I’ve learned a lot about you.”

“Yeah, you’ve learned I can’t keep my mouth shut when I should.”

“Same, pal. I’ve also learned that you’re a good person, and you care a lot about the people you love, which I’m guessing you inherited from your mom. I’ve learned that you’re strong in every way possible, because your mom died and you still kicked cancer’s ass.” Steve did the head duck, neck rub thing, a faint blush on his cheeks.

“That’s sweet of you to say,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

“It’s true.”

They both ate, occasionally meeting eyes and smiling shyly, until their plates were almost empty and Darcy flounced over and said, “If you’d stop gazing into each other’s eyes for a second, I got a piece of paper that proves you owe me money.”

Steve’s blush darkened and he snatched the receipt from a smirking Darcy as he slid out of the booth. “I’ll just pay now,” he mumbled to Bucky.

“I love embarrassing him,” sighed Darcy. “Never gets old.” She set one sharp eye on Bucky. “Where’d you come from, anyway?”

“Uh, Red Hook?”

“Where’d you meet Steve?”

“Café down the street?”

“That a question?”

“No, ma’am.”

Darcy glared at him. “Steve’s a really awesome guy.”

“I’m getting that.”

“No, I mean he’s even better than you’re thinking he is. He’s like a human cinnamon roll. That’ll also punch you if you hurt someone or something he cares about. So if you’re just in this for his admittedly amazing ass, I’ll escort you outside myself.”

“Are you giving me the shovel talk?”

“I’m telling you that if you mess with or mistreat Steve, you’ll have a mob on your doorstep before the day’s over.”

“I’m not looking for anything from him. I’m flying to Georgia in a couple hours, I thought he was cute and it wouldn’t hurt to ask him out, and here were are.”

“Do you want to have sex with him?” Darcy asked bluntly.

“Uh—yeah?” Darcy’s eyes darkened, and Bucky hurriedly backtracked. “If he wants to.” Then, because he just couldn’t help himself, he added, “We  _ are _ both consenting adults, so I’m assuming I wouldn’t need your permission.”

“Steve deserves more than a one-night stand,” Darcy muttered.

“I agree. I’d go out with him again, but I’m literally leaving in a couple hours for boot camp, so…”

“Stop interrogating him, Darcy,” Steve said as he came back, then to Bucky, “We can leave whenever we’re finished, no rush.” Bucky smiled at him.

“Great. Now, how much do I owe you for my half?”

Darcy snorted. “Dude, he’ll fight you.”

“I’m not gonna fight him,” Steve said, scowling at Darcy. He turned to Bucky. “I am, however, going to refuse to accept your money.”

“That’s ridiculous, I have this huge burger—“

“It’s not like it’s a hundred dollars, Buck, it’s fine.”

“Then let me at least tip—“

“I covered it already.”

“How much’re we talkin’?”  asked Darcy.

“I’m not telling you that.”

“That’s alright, Steve, I know you’re a good tipper.” She kissed his cheek and skipped away, with one last withering glare in Bucky’s direction. Steve sighed.

“Sorry about her.”

“She’s fine. Cares about you, is all.”

“What did she say to you?”

“Just the basic stuff. Mob if I mistreat you, don’t force you into anything you don’t want, et cetera.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said, running a hand through his hair. “I swear, I had no idea she’d do that.”

“Are you guys…like…?”

Steve’s eyes widened almost comically. “No! No, of course not—she’s nineteen, Bucky, and I’m twenty-six, I’d never even  _ consider _ it.”

“Okay, sorry, just wondering.” Bucky popped a couple french fries in his mouth. “These are amazing, by the way.”

“Hurry up, I think we can catch a movie before you have to leave if we double-time it.”

Bucky ate his next french fry in exaggerated slow-motion, and Steve scowled at him.

“Jerk.”

“People don’t usually insult their dates.”

“Yeah, but usually people aren’t out with  _ you _ .”

“Well now, Stevie, I’m hurt. I think the only way I’ll recover is if you buy me popcorn.”

“You literally just had a full meal.”

“I’m a growing boy.”

Steve snorted. “Sure you are. Fine. Popcorn’s on me.”

“I’ll buy tickets though, don’t worry. After all, I am technically the one courting here.”

“So I’m the courtee?”

“Yep. Because I asked you out, so that makes you the courtee.”

“Any way I can  _ not  _ be the courtee?”

“Maybe on the next date.”

Steve grinned, leaned towards him. “What makes you think there’s gonna be a next date?”

“I’m irresistible, Steve,” Bucky sighed. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to help yourself.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Yeah, so you said.” Bucky swabbed his last french fry in ketchup and ate it in one bite. “But seriously, you interested?”

Steve smiled, small and a little nervous. “Yeah. I think so.”

Bucky felt his cheeks heat up and turned to grab a napkin. “Uh, I don’t know when I’ll be back in town, but maybe you could give me your address and phone number? So I can call or write or something.”

Steve had a pencil in the pocket of his jeans (“For sketching,” he explained) and he carefully penciled in his full name, phone number, address, and the words,  _ write to me, jerk. _

How sweet.

“Don’t lose that,” Steve warned as Bucky folded it and tucked it safely in a pocket of his bag.

“Trust me, I won’t.”

Bucky pulled back on his coat, tucked the thick knit scarf around his neck, slid his hands into the gloves. Steve was still standing there in his stupid sweater, apparently intending to resume being a human furnace. He smiled at every person they passed on the way out and when the blast of cold air hit them he just smiled all the wider and took a deep, relaxed breath, his eyes shut and his eyelashes resting on his cheek.

“I love New York in winter,” he sighed as they started walking.

“You’re right. I don’t know if my favorite part is the freezing temperatures, slush all over the sidewalks, or spending a fortune on heating,” Bucky said sarcastically, casting a dark look towards a snow-covered bench for good measure.

“You know,” Steve said, “it wouldn’t kill you to be a little less cynical.”

“Not as much fun.”

Steve didn’t say anything to that, but a few minutes later he interlocked his fingers with Bucky’s, and Bucky kicked himself for putting his gloves on. He could only feel Steve’s hand through the thin fabric. Curse you, inventor of gloves.

Steve squeezed his hand and Bucky internally squealed.

After several minutes of Bucky thinking about Steve holding his hand and trying avidly not to  _ look _ like he was thinking about Steve holding his hand, Steve interrupted his inner dialogue and said, “Theatre’s right up here.”

They got tickets for a random movie that was starting in a few minutes, and Steve held the door open for Bucky to walk in, as well as a group of teenaged girls coming behind them who stared at Steve and broke into giggles once they were inside, chattering amongst themselves. Steve was utterly confused by it.

“You’re right, you’re a total ogre, not attractive at all,” Bucky said dryly. Steve told him to shut up, but the effect was dulled by the blush spreading across his cheeks. 

Once they had the popcorn, they snuck into the theatre and sat a little more than halfway up the stadium seats, which Steve swore was the best for optimal movie viewing. The only other people in the theatre were a teenaged couple in the very back, currently preoccupied with sucking each other’s faces off.

The “horror” movie was total crap, except for the parts where Bucky’s hand totally not on purpose brushed against Steve’s when they both went to get popcorn, now unobstructed by gloves. About halfway through, Steve leaned closer to Bucky and whispered in his ear, “I’ll bet you ten bucks the noise downstairs is just her roommate.”

“You’re on,” Bucky whispered back.

Steve looked far too smug when Bucky handed over ten bucks a few seconds later.

“Don’t get too happy, pal,” Bucky muttered. “Double or nothing. Boyfriend is a zombie in disguise.”

Steve forked over twenty bucks. And another ten a few minutes later when it turned out the roommate was  _ also  _ a zombie.

But then Bucky handed it all back over when the girl actually did survive the movie.

“She shouldn’t’ve,” he said to Steve as they were disposing of their popcorn bucket outside the screening room. “Just saying. I’ve known a lot of idiots in my day, but she takes the cake.”

“You’re just sour about losing all your money.”

“Well, you cheated.”

Steve laughed at him. “How could I cheat?”

“You know how you cheated, Rogers.” Steve laughed again, and Bucky checked his watch.

“You have to go?” Steve asked softly. All the laughter had suddenly drained from his face. His expression made Bucky’s stomach twist.

“Sort of,” he mumbled. “Uh, if I head to the airport now it gives me a little over an hour until my flight.”

Steve nodded with a slight smile. “Well, I had a lot of fun, Bucky.”

“Me too, Steve.”

“Mind if I walk you out?”

“I was expecting it.”

Steve’s smile got even brighter and he waited patiently for Bucky to replace his coat and scarf (not the gloves; he’d learned his lesson). That time it was Bucky to slide his fingers in between Steve’s, revelling in the feel of warm, rough skin, and Steve’s thumb was absent-mindedly rubbing the back of Bucky’s hand as they walked through the theatre and back into the cold.

Steve was hot. That was what made Bucky want to ask him out in the first place. But he was also sweet, and funny, and when he laughed his whole face scrunched up and it was adorable.  _ He  _ was adorable. Not to mention he could match Bucky for sarcasm. That was really an admirable trait.

And Bucky was scared.

Yes, he’d chosen to enlist, and yes, it was a good way to serve his country while he figured out what he actually wanted to do, but…he didn’t want to die. He wanted to stay and go out with Steve again and read history books and  _ live.  _

It made him feel extremely childish. He knew being scared of death was pointless.

But.

The two of them stood on the sidewalk, and Steve flagged down a cab, which pulled to a stop in front of them. “Bucky,” he said, turning to face him, “if you blow yourself up putting your boots on, I’m not coming to your funeral.”

It startled a laugh out of Bucky, and Steve grinned, then helped load Bucky’s duffel bag in the trunk. He slammed the trunk shut, and they stood facing each other.

“Guess this is goodbye for a while,” Bucky murmured, nerves pooling in the pit of his stomach.

“It better not be. You have all my contact information, the ball’s entirely in your court.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I get a chance.”

“You better. I had a really great time.”

“So did I.” Bucky rubbed his forehead. “We gotta hurry this up, it’s starting to look like a cheesy rom-com scene.”

Steve grinned and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth, before pulling away and leaving Bucky in shock as he stepped back up on the sidewalk.

Bucky managed to recover and got inside the cab. “LaGuardia Airport,” he told the cab driver, and looked out the window.

Steve waved at him, and Bucky waved back as the cab pulled away to the curb, and Steve slowly faded into the sea of faces.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *spoiler alert* - This isn't the last time they see each other. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed. Comment if you like it, dislike it, or just accidentally clicked and are confused as to what's going on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: Bruce Banner the 100% Done Chemistry Teacher, the latest attempt to get Steve Rogers drunk, Sam "Ann Perkins" Wilson, and a long-awaited letter.

 

**\- Three Years Later-**

 

“Mister Rogers?”

Steve looked up from his sketch. “Yeah, Parker?”

“For my final project, do I have to print out my pictures?” Parker picked at the sleeve of his hoodie. “Or can I just do the touch-ups and put them online?”

“If you want them in the showcase next month then they need to be printed out. You can email me the files once you’re finished with them and I’ll print them out on the good printer here.”

Parker visibly relaxed and grinned at him. “Awesome, okay, thanks, Mister R.”

Steve smiled at him. Parker retreated back to his desk.

His last class of the day was always his favorite. It was an open art workshop for seniors where they could just come in and make whatever kind of art they wanted. A few kids were painting, one was experimenting with graphic design, Parker was doing a photography spread. It was small, and quiet, and Steve didn’t have to grade anything except the big showcase they had every January. And even that wasn’t any trouble, because every kid in his class was in there because they loved art, and they all wanted to make the best art they could. Plus, there was always the chance they’d get an art scholarship, or at least a shot at one, based on their performance in the showcase. If that wasn’t motivation, Steve didn’t know what was.

It was quiet as they worked, and he went back to his sketch. He’d been forming it in his head for days, never really getting a good time to put a rough idea down on paper, and now he allowed himself to get lost in it, pencilling in outlines of figures and occasionally jotting down notes on a color scheme by the edges. Eventually he heard the faint rustling that indicates high school students anxious to be dismissed, and he released them, smiling and wishing them a good weekend as they shuffled past, most already on their phones.

Bucky frequently made fun of Steve for having an “old soul.” If not being attached to a smartphone all day and night made him an old soul, then Steve would proudly accept the label.

He tucked his sketch carefully in his messenger bag and grabbed his coat, throwing it over one arm as he pulled on his bag and left his classroom, shutting off the lights as he did so. He slid into the sea of teenagers as they walked through the hallways towards the front doors, and he passed by Bruce’s room, where Bruce was practically growling at his computer.

Steve poked his head in. “Rough day?”

“I hate teenagers,” Bruce hissed. “They don’t shut up. And I hate Alexander fucking Pierce who thinks he can just make me change the mid-term I had drafted because he’s on the school board.”

“What’s his problem with your mid-term?”

“He claims it doesn’t force the kids to use their ‘critical thinking skills,’” Bruce snapped, mimicking Pierce’s voice. “It’s _chemistry!_ There’s a limit to how critical it can get!”

“Benefit of not teaching a core class—no midterms,” Steve said with a grin, and the look Bruce gave him almost made him fear for his life.

“I’m going to strangle Pierce.”

“Have you tried talking to Fury about him?”

Bruce snorted. “Yeah, I did, and I’m sure Pierce’ll suddenly get off our backs. He’ll probably also ride up to school Monday morning in a Volkswagen, wearing bell bottoms, with a container of magic brownies to share with all of us.”

“I get your point.”

“I’m a chemist, I can make my own magic brownies.” Bruce glared at a beaker. “I might kill someone.”

“I’ll get out of your hair, then.”

“I swear, after this year, I’m retiring.”

Steve smiled sympathetically at him. “You going for drinks with Tony?”

“Probably. You?”

“If I don’t, he might kidnap me and take me by force, so I think I’d better. I just have to swing by my apartment first.”

“Expecting a letter?"

Steve’s cheeks flushed and he ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah.”

“I’ll explain to Tony. Just get to the bar as soon as you can, I can only hold him off for so long.”

“Will do. Thanks, Bruce.”

“See you, Steve.”

Steve smiled at him again and left the room, heading through the main hallway to the front doors. He waved to Hill in the office as he passed. He had reached the doors when Parker came running up to him, face flushed, eyes frantic.

“Did you leave your computer in my room again?”

Parker nodded. Steve resisted the urge to groan internally.

“Come on, I gotta unlock it for you.”

Once Parker’s laptop was rescued and Steve was finally out of the building, it took all the willpower he possessed to keep from sprinting home. The letter would still be there if he took his time.

He pretended he didn’t notice his pace speed up, still technically walking, but _definitely_ _not_ taking his time.

In theory, he recognizes that the walk from the school to his apartment is only about ten minutes.

But it feels so _far._

Sam. He can call Sam. Sam will talk to him and help him pass time. Steve walks slightly faster as he dials.

“Hey, man.”

“Hey.”

“Letter come today?”

Steve groaned and rubbed the side of his face. “How does everyone know that?”

“Dude, you high-tailed it outta here. I just swung by your room, barely five minutes after school’s over, mind you, and it’s empty. You only run out that fast on letter days. So, you read it yet?”

“I’m not _home_ yet,” Steve said. He was really jogging more than he was walking at this point. “It might not be today, sometimes it comes a little later.”

“Well, I was gonna ask if you wanted to come over and watch Netflix with me. Once you have it, of course. You still haven’t seen _Parks and Recreation_ and we need to remedy that. You’re totally Leslie Knope. No—” Sam laughed. “Nope, I was wrong, you are Andy Dwyer. With the nerdiness of Ben Wyatt. You are Andy Wyatt.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“So can I expect you in half an hour?”

“I wish I could, Sam, but Tony invited me out for drinks, and when Tony ‘invites’ it’s really more of a ‘go or I’ll make you’ type of thing.”

“Then tomorrow I’ll go over to _your_ place and we can do this.”

“Why can’t we go to your place?”

“They’re doing something to the plumbing in my building so they’re kinda kicking us out for the day. Mind if I show up around eleven? I’ll bring cookies.”

“Double chocolate chip?”

Sam snorted. “Do you even have to _ask_?”

“Okay, eleven’s good."

“Go ahead.”

“Sorry?”

“Your boy. You’re dying to talk about him. It’s been about an hour and a half since you were gushing about him in my office, you’re overdue.”

Steve blushed. “I’m not that bad.”

“Uh huh. Go ahead.”

“...I just can’t believe my luck sometimes that we just happened to bump into each other and he happened to ask me out and we happened to stay together for almost three years. Like, of the seven billion people on this Earth, I was lucky enough to meet him, and by some even more incredible stroke of luck, he thought I was worth spending his time on.” Sam made a little noise at that, and Steve corrected himself, “I’m just lucky he decided to love me back. I’m happy, Sam, I...I’m really, really happy.”

“I’m happy you’re happy, man. He mention when his deployment’s up?”

“Should be a few more months.”

“How optimistic are you feelin’ about those months?”

“We’re not gonna break up. We’ve made it nearly three years, gone too far to give up now.”

“But?”

Steve sighed. Sam knew him too well. “But it’s his first deployment in Special Forces, and...at least his other one he was just a part of the regular Army. And I know he was still in danger, but it was _less_ danger, or it at least _felt_ like less danger.”

“He’ll be alright. Besides, it helps knowing you got someone at home waiting for you.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Are you breathing funny?”

“I’m...sort of running home.”

Sam started cracking up and Steve removed the phone from his ear, heart pounding as his apartment building came into sight. A grin burst onto his face and he sprinted the rest of the way, getting inside and rushing to the mailboxes.

Junk, junk, junk, postcard from Darcy (who was currently vacationing in France), and…

Nothing.

He checked every envelope again, then a third time, just to make sure he hadn’t missed Bucky’s letter, and then he stuck his hand back inside the mailbox, feeling around. Just in case.

Nothing.

Bucky’s letter hadn’t come.

The grin had faded to a deep frown. He’d _known_ it might not be here today, but...but it was letter day. It was supposed to be here. He was supposed to feel the weight of the paper and rip the envelope open and not stop beaming for hours after reading Bucky’s neat cursive handwriting—

Steve was gonna start sobbing by his mailbox if he didn’t get a grip on himself.

It wasn’t that big of a deal. So the letter came a day later than he’d been expecting. He’d been anticipating it since he’d woken up that morning, excitement swelling in his chest as the day wore on, unable to stop smiling at everyone he happened to pass by, so that would just carry over into tomorrow and then it would be even _better_ , because he’d spent so long waiting…

Mrs. Norris, the little old lady that lived in the apartment across the hall from his, came teetering down the steps, and she stopped when she caught sight of Steve, who was dangerously close to crying, still tightly clutching his stupid junk mail.

“Everything okay, Steven?” she asked. Her eyes flitted from the mail in his hands to his watery eyes, and her own eyes widened. “Nothing happened to your soldier, now, did it?”

“No, ma’am,” Steve said, rubbing at his eyes. “It’s nothing, his letter just didn’t come today like I was expecting.”

Mrs. Norris smiled and rested her thin hand on his wrist. “I’m sure it’ll be there tomorrow, dear. Sometimes these things just happen.”

“I know. Thank you, Mrs. Norris.”

“Is your soldier coming home for Christmas?”

“That’s the plan, ma’am. He gets two weeks leave so he wants to be home the last week of December and the first one of January.”

“Well, just about a month left, then. You must be getting excited.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.”

“I’ll be sure to say a rosary for your soldier tonight.”

Steve thanked her. Mrs. Norris patted his wrist and tottered past, out into the street. Once she was gone, Steve took a deep, shaky breath, before shutting his mailbox and going up to his apartment.

Steve hung up his keys and dropped his bag in the armchair by the door (made of a pale blue fabric that reminded him of Bucky’s eyes), letting out a deep sigh. It was a decent place, with two bedrooms and an acceptable square footage, especially for New York, and it was pretty cheap, since there was a fire station directly adjacent. Steve had to remind himself of the safety and cheap rent at night when sirens started blaring and yanked him abruptly out of his sleep.

He trudged past the kitchen and tossed his mail on a counter. Once he reached his bedroom he yanked off his tie, tossing it on the chair by his desk, then grabbed his wallet from his briefcase, even though Tony would probably pay for everything. He refused to look at the junk mail as he left.

On the subway ride into Manhattan he tried to reassure himself that nothing was out of the ordinary. This had happened many times before over the course of Bucky’s deployment. It didn’t mean he was on some dangerous mission, or was missing, or was de—

Steve shut that thought down, but he wasn’t fast enough, and suddenly all he could think about was Bucky being blown to bits, being ripped apart in a POW camp, being shredded by bullets, blood blooming across his fatigues...

_Get it together, Rogers._

Tony and Bruce were already seated in the bar, and Steve slid into the empty booth, grabbing the beer bottle waiting for him and chugging down at least half of it. Tony and Bruce fell silent and glanced at each other.

“Everything okay?” Bruce asked tentatively.

“Wanna get drunk,” Steve muttered. Tony grinned and clapped his hands together.

“Well, well, well, ladies and gentlemen, the days has finally come. Steve Rogers, All-American Boy Scout Extraordinaire, has at long last decided to travel to the other side—”

“Less talking, more drinking.”

“That’s the spirit I’m looking for, Rogers!”

“Tony,” Bruce began, “I’m not sure—”

“Brucie, bud, I’ve been waiting six years for this moment, and you can’t take it away from me.” Tony hopped out of the booth and yelled, “Shots!”

\--

Steve jerked awake at the sound of someone banging on his front door, and immediately groaned, rubbing his head. He was stupid. He was so, so, _so_ stupid.

And so, so, _so_ hungover.

The person at his door knocked again and someone yelled, “Dude, I swear I’m gonna eat every  one of these damn cookies if you don’t hurry it up!”

Right. Sam.

Steve tried to get up, but he was so tangled in the sheets he ended up falling out of bed with a hard _thump_ . _This,_ he reminded himself, _is why we don’t let Tony get us drunk._

He shuffled towards his front door once he’d successfully freed himself from the sheets and swung the door open, leaning into it so he didn’t lose his balance and fall over. Sam was standing there, a huge container of cookies in one arm, and at the sight of Steve he raised an eyebrow.

“The hell happened to you?”

“Tony. To be fair, I asked him to do it.”

“The hell’d you do that for?”

“Letter didn’t come,” Steve mumbled. Sam gave him a look.

“Your boy’s letter is a day late so you get piss drunk and fall asleep with your shoes still on?”

Steve glanced down; it appeared his shoes _were_ still on.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about him being dead. Sam, what if something happened to him?”

Sam sighed. “Look, man, we can talk about that later. You need to take a shower and drink your body weight in water, then I’ll yell at you for being such an idiot, then we’ll eat cookies and have a heart-to-heart while watching _Parks and Rec_. Got it?”

Steve nodded.

“Good. Now go.”

Showering felt like dying. He puked (twice) and he fell over again trying to get out, landing with a _thud_ on the tile. He could hear Sam laughing through the walls. Steve glared at him when he reemerged from his bedroom, now in sweatpants and Bucky’s Army sweatshirt. Sam just handed him a glass of water.

Steve had never truly appreciated water before now. Water was amazing. Water was the answer to all of life’s questions. He drained the first glass, then a second, then a third, fourth, and fifth.

“That’s good,” Sam finally said, and as soon as Steve set down the glass he yelled, “What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

Steve blinked at him.

“You know full well that sometimes letters get lost in processing, or they don’t get sent on time, or they just end up getting stuck somewhere and it takes a couple extra days to get ‘em where they need to go! The _constructive_ solution would’ve been to _call me_ and let me know you were worried instead of letting Tony-fucking-Stark pump you full of alcohol! See, Steve, there’s this thing that most people do called ‘dealing with our feelings,’ and you might wanna read up on it sometime.”

“Sam—”

“Anything could’ve happened to you, Steve! Literally anything! And I’d have no idea ‘cause you didn’t bother calling to tell me you were concerned about Barnes, just went out and got too wasted to even fucking _see_ straight—”

“Sam, I’m sorry, I really am,” Steve said. His head was threatening to rip itself apart from Sam’s yells and the lights shining in his face.

Sam sighed. “Okay, yelling part over,” he muttered as he tugged Steve in for a hug.

“That was quick.”

“Yeah, well, you’re just a natural idiot, and it’s kinda hard to stay mad at you for that.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Plus I’ve held off on eating any of the cookies and I really wanna get to that as soon as possible.”

So they got cookies and Sam thankfully turned the lights off, though the glowing TV screen wasn’t much better for Steve’s headache. Once Sam got _Parks and Recreation_ started, he kicked his feet up on the coffee table, grabbed another cookie, and said, “You know he’ll be fine, right?”

“I can’t know that.”

“Steve, the guy’s been in the army for three years, he’s already in Special Forces, and he’s a sergeant, no less. Barnes is good at what he does. And he’s got you.”

“How am I supposed to keep him safe from here?” Steve asked around a mouthful of cookie.

“Trust me. Just knowing you’re here waiting for him to get back will make him that much more determined to get back in one piece.”

“And if determination doesn’t cut it?”

Sam glanced at him. “I’m not gonna lie to you, man, it might not. But it’s a little thing that helps, and sometimes that’s all you need.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck and focused his attention on the TV again. Sam was right. He almost always was (not that Steve would ever tell _him_ that). Bucky was good at his job. Yeah, it wasn’t his passion or anything, but he was just kind of a natural. He could take care of himself.

“That’s Ann, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“She reminds me of you.”

Sam scoffed. “Please. I am the sexy and amazing Donna Meagle.”

“Oh.”

“Now come on, man, it’s not like the cookies are gonna go extinct or anything. Take two.”

Steve suppressed a smile as Sam forced cookies into his hands. He hadn’t even seen a full episode of this show yet, but Sam was most definitely like Ann Perkins.

They watched _Parks and Recreation_ for a good seven hours, occasionally getting up to stretch, and worked their way through the first season and most of the second. Sam interrogated Steve on what he thought about it, then he got up to call the pizza place.

“You know,” Sam said as he dialed, “I bet the mail’s been delivered.”

“Sam—”

“Just go check, and if it’s not here yet then you can stuff your face with pizza to deal, alright?”

“Alright,” Steve mumbled, because the idea of stuffing his face with pizza was actually very appealing, and he yanked on a pair of tennis shoes before jogging downstairs. He opened his mailbox and retrieved the stack of mail inside of it: bills, a magazine he swore he never subscribed to, a flyer for an art festival he might actually go to, and—

His heart stopped as he stared at the envelope.

He’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.

Suddenly beaming, he sprinted back up to his apartment, throwing the door open and waving the mail in Sam’s face.

“It’s here! Sam, it came, he’s okay—”

“Of course he’s okay,” Sam said with a grin, squeezing Steve’s shoulder. “Go on, open it.”

Steve dropped the other mail and ripped into the envelope. It dropped to the floor as he hastily unfolded the sheet of paper inside.

 

 

_Stevie,_

_Things are okay over here. Kinda boring right now, actually, which I guess is better than the alternative. Clint and I are trying to invent a new card game, and we even managed to get a makeshift game of Twister going, using different rocks for the colored circles. Nat beat us all like she wasn’t even trying. Sometimes I think she joined the army just to show everyone else up._

_Sorry about Parker. Just remember, at the end of the day, you get money and he gets six hours of homework, and try not to punch him. Speaking of, are you staying out of fights like I told you to? You’re only allowed to do that when I’m there to patch you up. And don’t bother lying, I have Sam’s phone number._

_I’m doing okay, I think. I miss you a lot. I can’t wait to get there and actually get to_ _see_ _you. You better have that tree up, don’t procrastinate like you did last year._

_That reminds me, actually, on the 8th we’re gonna be in a place where we can get Skype. I know it’s a school day but I thought I might be able to time it so we can talk during one     of your free periods, or maybe lunch? It would be great to hear your voice._

_Clint’s reading this over my shoulder and calling me a sap, so I’d better stop here. Don’t you worry your pretty face over me, Stevie, I’ll be home before you know it. I love you._

_\-  Bucky_

_~~p.s. send me a pic my darling little Stevie~~ _

_Sorry, that was Clint. A pic is not necessary. (Though not discouraged.)_

 

Steve knew he was grinning like a madman, and really didn’t care. Bucky was _safe_.

He accepted the cookie Sam was offering him, grabbed a pen and piece of paper from his desk, and started writing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: Steve's poor taste in Christmas decorations, a flashback, a whoopee cushion requested with malicious intent, and Colorado.

Bucky was totally not staring at a picture of Steve while lying in his bunk. Definitely not. Nope. 

Except he totally was.

What could he say? He was dating the best looking guy on Earth, and if he wanted to stare at that gorgeous face, it was perfectly within his rights. It was an adorable picture of Steve too. Bucky’d been back in Brooklyn, stationed at Fort Hamilton, and he’d gotten to spend Christmas with his best guy. They’d exchanged presents, Steve in his absolutely horrible Christmas sweater gifted to him by Tony. He’d promptly conked out afterwards and Bucky took a picture of him leaning onto the couch cushions, mouth hanging open, Santa hat askew on his head. Steve hated the picture. Bucky thought it was cute. 

The worst part about being over here was being so far from Steve. Bucky had gotten ridiculously lucky when he’d been stationed at Fort Hamilton after basic, because it meant he and Steve could sort of have a normal relationship. They went on dates and, when permitted, Bucky slept over at Steve’s apartment, where half of his belongings were. It was still unconventional, but it worked. 

His first deployment had been rough, especially in the beginning. He and Steve wrote and Skyped and Steve occasionally sent him care packages with cookies and things, which earned Bucky popularity among his squad, but it wasn’t the same. He couldn’t settle into Steve’s arms, help him cook dinner, sit with a hot cup of tea and watch Steve sketch. It got easier to go without, as he adjusted to life without those little luxuries, and he began to appreciate the value of a letter, of being able to hear Steve through his small, neat handwriting. He kept a few letters in his bunk and on his person just in case he needed the reminder of what he was fighting for.

“Barnes!” 

“What do you want, Barton?” Bucky groaned, sliding the picture into his pocket.

“Oh, just got a letter you might want.”

Bucky launched himself off his bed. Barton looked all too smug as Bucky snatched the envelope from him and scanned it frantically. Sure enough, it was Steve’s careful print on the outside. Bucky ripped it open.  
  


_ Dear Bucky,  _

_ I don’t know how you guessed I don’t have that damn tree up, but you managed it somehow. I’ll get around to it, I promise. Not like I have the whole month or anything. At least I have your Christmas gift ready. Take that.  _

_ It’s so good to hear you’re doing okay. I worry, believe it or not, and your letter came later than I was expecting. I may have freaked out. I also may have let Tony get me drunk. Maybe. I don’t know. But anyway. It’s good to know you’re safe. You’d better stay that way. _

_ I don’t know why you thought challenging Natasha to a game of makeshift Twister would end well for you. Never can learn, can you Barnes? The card game sounds interesting, you’ll have to teach me when you get here. _

_ I’m staying out of fights. I promise I am, you can call Sam and verify if you have to. Things are pretty boring here, actually. I’ve got a few commissions, so those are eating up my free time. The kids are gearing up for the showcase so that’s keeping me pretty busy. There’s some great stuff, especially Parker’s photos. I can’t stand the kid but he’s good with a camera.  _

_ I don’t care when you Skype me, I will answer your call, any ime.  _

_ I miss you so much, Buck. Sam says he does too, because he misses having someone around to make him look better by comparison. He does miss you, though, as do Bruce, Pepper, Tony, and Darcy. My students ask about you too. I’m pretty sure half of them have crushes on you. (Why wouldn’t they?)  _

_ I did put a string of Christmas lights on top of the cabinets. They’re the big multi-colored ones, which I know you hate, but the tree’s going to have white lights so you can at least let my pretty colorful lights have the cabinets. It’s only fair. Anyway, we’ve got the lights, and they play Christmas stuff nonstop on the radio, so that’s always going, and one of my students gave me this cinnamon candle that I’ve been burning whenever I sketch. It’s coming together. Without the tree, granted, but I like putting that up with you anyway. _

_ Tell Clint, Natasha, Gabe, Kate, and Jim I said hi, and get their lists for holiday care packages. And tell them to not even try and get out of it, if I don’t get a list I’ll just send them whatever I think they need. _

_ Keep yourself safe, okay? Don’t be pulling any hero acts on me. All I want is for you to get through these next couple weeks and come home to me. Which I know is sappy. I love you, deal with it. The weeks’ll be gone before you know it and we’ll be together and you can yell at me in person for not putting the tree up on time. Soon. _

_ I’ll leave off here. Be sure to get those lists and write me back when you get the chance. _

_ Love, _

_ Steve _

_ P.S. Enclosed you’ll find a picture of me and that dog from the shelter. That is what you meant when you said you wanted a pic, right? _

Bucky glanced back in the envelope and, sure enough, there was a picture inside. A selfie of Steve grinning at the camera with his thousand-watt smile, arm wrapped around Lucky. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at it.

He remembered Barton was still there, so he waved the letter and said, “Steve wants holiday care package lists.”

“Ooh, you think he can make those double chocolate chip cookies he sent for my birthday?”

“Sure thing.” Bucky took the picture and taped it up against the wall, so he could see it from his bed. Barton nodded at it.

“You got any plans for your leave?”

“Well, Christmas stuff, of course. And it’ll be just after our third anniversary, so we’ll celebrate for that too.”

“When’re you gonna pop the question?”

Bucky slid the letter into a pocket on his uniform. “Whenever I feel like it, I guess. I have to get the ring first.”

“He’ll say yes.”

“I guess. Doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.”

“Have you guys talked about it?”

Bucky shrugged. “Not really. I guess we both figured we’d wait until my service was up, but that’s three years. And then Steve really wanted to go back to school and get his Master’s, so we wouldn’t have money for a wedding or anything then. I’d rather just get it over with now.”

“‘I’d rather just get it over with now,’” Barton repeated in a dreamy tone. “The foundation of every healthy marriage.” 

Bucky punched his arm. “C’mon, man, you know what I meant.”

“You really wanna spend your first months as an engaged couple an ocean apart?”

“Not really, but it’s just a few months. Be over before we know it.”

Barton nodded. “I’m happy for you, bro.”

“Yeah, I’m happy too.”

* * *

 

_ Bucky’s been on this goddamn plane for who knows how many hours, and he’s just about had it. The old lady next to him keeps loudly talking about her grandkids who, frankly, Bucky doesn’t give a shit about, and there’s a baby somewhere on this flight that’s been screaming its head off since they reached the Pacific, and Bucky’s so fucking tired. He’s just now wrapping up the first deployment of his life and he’s tired and he misses Steve so badly his entire body is aching with it. They’ve still got over an hour to New York, and then it’ll be at least forty-five minutes to get to Steve’s apartment, probably longer if he can’t get a cab and has to take the subway into Brooklyn. And he’s been allowed this one night off, but he needs to be on base by six tomorrow morning.  _

_ Just the idea of his alarm going off the next morning makes Bucky moan internally. _

_ The initial plan was to rest up on the flight, spend the whole night with Steve, and maybe catch a quick nap before reporting to base. The plan has fallen apart completely. Now, it’ll be lucky for Bucky to stay awake long enough to give Steve a reunion kiss before passing out on the bed. _

_ Bucky shuts his eyes, ignores the old lady prattling on next to him, and thinks of Steve. They’ve been dating nearly eighteen months now, six of those months being long distance while Bucky was deployed. It’s been amazing.  _ Steve’s  _ amazing. Bucky can’t even believe how lucky he got, that the café waiter he randomly asked out on a date happened to be the one person that seems to match him perfectly. Sure, Steve legitimately thinks Pepsi is better than Coca-Cola, and he likes those tacky multicolored Christmas lights and owns every Spice Girls album ever released, but that can be overlooked. Steve is sweet and soft where Bucky’s rough around the edges. Bucky’s calm and even-tempered where Steve has a fuse the length of a matchbox. They fill in the gaps in each other that they hadn’t even realized could be filled. _

_ Bucky misses him so much. Phone calls and Skype and letters don’t cut it. He needs Steve just like he needs to breathe. _

_ He pulls Steve’s most recent letter out of his pocket and reads it again, although he probably has it memorized at this point. It’s pretty short - just a message telling him to have a safe flight, that Steve’ll see him soon, that Steve loves him. Nothing of any real substance. Bucky can’t stop reading it. Every time he does, he gets even more excited for when he finally gets to see Steve again. _

_ The old lady peeks over at his letter and says, “Your girlfriend been writing to you?” _

_ “Boyfriend, actually,” Bucky corrects, thinking that she’ll stop talking and just mumble little prayers or give him occasional glances of disgust or something. But the old lady just smiles and adjusts her huge glasses on her nose. _

_ “How nice. I remember being young, and in love. Nothing quite like it. Your boy, he’s good to you?” _

_ Bucky finds himself grinning as he says, “The best.” _

_ “What’s your fella’s name?” _

_ “Steve.” _

_ “Easy on the eyes?”  _

_ Bucky laughs and says, “I’d stare at him all day if I could.” He pulls the picture of Steve from his pocket and hands it to her. _

_ “Ooh, Lord, if I was your age I’d never let that man leave the bedroom.” Bucky lets out an unattractive snort while the lady holds up the picture next to his face. “Yes, you two look just perfect together. A match made in heaven. You must be getting real excited to see him again.” _

_ “Yes, ma’am, I am.” _

_ The lady spends the rest of the flight talking to Bucky about Steve, which makes it slightly more bearable. Bucky grips the arms of his seat as they land but the old lady just hands him a stick of gum like she’d been flying all her life. _

_ When he asks her if she’d been on a lot of planes before, she says, “Boy, I flew planes in World War II. After you’ve been shot at by the Luftwaffe, these little landings come easy.” Bucky instantly feels both at awe and about two inches small. He helps get her bags down from the overhead compartment once it’s time for them to get off and when they’re through the jetway she pats his cheek twice before tottering off without a word, leaving Bucky alone. _

_ Now, without a distraction, the exhaustion of the plane ride and six months of deployment are catching back up to him. He lets out a sigh and scratches the back of his neck before heaving his bag over his shoulder and setting off towards the exits. Hopefully he’ll be able to get a cab. If not, he’d just see Steve a little later. Not a big deal. At all. _

_ Bucky trudges through the airport and smiles at the security guard as he walks past the point of no return. When he glances forward again, he freezes. _

_ There’s Steve-fucking-Rogers, standing ten feet away from him, holding a sign that says, ‘WELCOME HOME, JERK.’ He looks like a dream, t-shirt snug over his chest, jeans clinging to his legs. He’s beaming at Bucky, a few tears falling down his cheeks. _

_ There’s a sudden wetness on Bucky’s cheeks as well and it brings him back to reality. Without a word, he strides forward, drops his bag, and scoops Steve up in his arms, slamming their mouths together. The poster is dropped to the floor as Steve scrambles to get his arms around Bucky. They kiss, messy and desperate. Bucky holds Steve as tightly as he can, unable to wrap his head around the fact that Steve was  _ here, now _. He can feel the shift of Steve’s muscles under his arms and smell Steve’s shampoo, and how did he ever go without this? _

_ They only break apart when someone whistles, and even then it’s only so Steve can tug him into a bone-crushing hug. They’re both crying, though Steve would adamantly deny that later. _

_ “I missed you,” they say at the same time, and both break into wet chuckles. Steve tucks his face against Bucky’s neck. _

_ “Thanks for coming back,” he whispers. _

_ “Thanks for being here,” Bucky whispers back. _

_ Steve releases him, still beaming, like Bucky’s the best thing he’s ever seen. “What happened to meeting you at your apartment?” Bucky asks, unable to hold back his grin. Steve shrugs. _

_ “Couldn’t wait that long.” _

_ Bucky kisses him again. _

_ Eventually, they’re able to detach long enough to gather up Steve’s poster and Bucky’s bag, and Bucky follows Steve back to his car thinking that he could easily envision spending the rest of his life with this man. _

* * *

 

Not to brag or anything, but Bucky was a master at sleeping. On deployment, anyway. Back home, things got a little more complicated, but when he was deployed, if he had five spare minutes, he could get four and a half minutes of good sleep. Usually.

Tonight, though, there was this scratchy feeling under his skin that refused to go away, and he lay awake staring at the bottom of their humvee for the better part of an hour. Natasha was on the other side, head next to his, and when she huffed he turned to look at her.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” she said.

“Something doesn’t feel right.” Bucky shifted, trying to move a rock situated between his shoulderblades. “And I need a goddamn shower.”

“We all need goddamn showers. Barton smells worse than a dumpster.”

“Barton always smells worse than a dumpster.”

“Well Kate’s calling him out on it now and it’s annoying the shit out of me.”

Bucky smiled at her. “Before I forget, Steve wants Christmas lists.”

“Any use in reminding him I’m an atheistic adult who doesn’t need him to buy me things?”

“Not at all. Barton asked for cookies and the ugliest Christmas sweater Steve can find, if you need inspiration.

“...Whoopee cushion.”

“Seriously? A whoopee cushion.”

“I feel like between Kate and myself, we can make it an interesting couple months for Barton.”

Bucky snickered softly. “I’ll let Steve know.”

“Also ponchiki.”

“What?”

“They’re a pastry thing. Steve’ll know, just tell him.”

“Is everyone going to want some baked good?”

“Yes,” Natasha informed him with a smirk. Bucky made a point to roll his eyes where she could see before going back to staring at the belly of the humvee.

“You miss him?” Natasha asked after a few moments, quieter.

“Yeah.”

“You guys were together during your last deployment, right?”

“Yup. We’d already been dating a year at that point, so it was easier to go long distance.” Bucky smiled at the memory. “He surprised me at the airport when I came home.”

“...Aren’t we being stationed in Fort Carson, though? Once we get back?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s in Colorado.”

Bucky ignored the sick feeling in his stomach. “I know.”

“Does Steve?”

“No.” Bucky shivered, and curled in on himself a big more. It was fucking cold in the desert. “He’ll move with me, though.”

“You sound confident,” Natasha commented.

“We’re in love. He’s in this for the long haul, and I am too.”

Natasha didn't say anything after that, leaving Bucky to stew in his guilt alone. Yes, Steve probably would move with him no matter what. He knew that. But...a little insurance policy never hurt, right? In the form of a nice, shiny ring?

Bucky loved Steve with all his heart, he really did. But he was constantly terrified that Steve would realize he could do better and go find someone else, someone who can actually  _ be _ with him. Asking Steve to leave New York for the first time in his life? That might get him thinking, thinking about all the sacrifices he's made to be with Bucky, all the things Bucky couldn't give him. Moving is a big fucking deal. Steve's entire life was in Brooklyn. Who was Bucky to take that away?

At least as fiancés Bucky wouldn't have to feel as goddamn guilty. Fiancés move to be together. Spouses move to be together. Boyfriends? Not so much, not without the promise of something more. And Bucky wasn't even sure Steve would  _ accept _ the goddamn proposal, so if he didn't then at least they wouldn't have to worry about awkwardly running into each other after their break up.

See, Steve brought out the best parts of Bucky, but he brought out the worst ones too. The jealous parts, the parts that'll do anything to protect and keep Steve. He hated himself for it, but he needed to be sure. He needed the insurance.

“Hey Nat,” he muttered, feeling like he might vomit any second, “am I a bad person?”

Natasha sighed a little. “No, James. You're not. I know what a bad person looks like, and you aren't it. Get some sleep.”

Bucky chewed on his lip. “I'm proposing to Steve so he has to move with me to Colorado,” he blurted.

Natasha was quiet for several long moments before saying, “I know that isn't the whole story. And loving your boyfriend, wanting to start a new life with him? That doesn't make you a bad person. That makes you human. Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep. You can have some weird existential crisis in the morning.”

Bucky smiled a little in spite of himself. “Love you, Nat,” he mumbled. Natasha was silent, and eventually, Bucky managed to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ponchiki (or pączki) are Russian/Polish pastries similar to donuts. They're very good. Also, fun fact: Fat Tuesday is also called Pączki Day in certain cities in the United States midwest that have a large number of Polish immigrants. The more you know. 
> 
> My [Tumblr](https://www.imhereforgaysuperheroes.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: A not-so-great Skype call, a Billy Kaplan cameo, The Best Christmas Movie aka The Muppet Christmas Carol, and two visitors.

When December 8th dawned, Steve was awake at four in the morning, unable to wipe the grin off his face. He spent way longer than he should have choosing a shirt and tie and it took him the better part of an hour to perfect his hair. That jittery feeling refused to go away once he reached the school. 

He hadn’t seen Bucky’s face for two months.

His laptop was kept open and plugged in all day, Skype running in the background, volume turned up all the way so Steve wouldn’t be able to miss Bucky’s call. The plan was that once Bucky called, Steve would grab his laptop and sprint for Sam’s office, which he’d vacated for the day, and when Hill in the front office saw she’d sub in for whatever class Steve was in the middle of. Of course, since Steve was so distracted he didn’t trust himself to teach, all his classes had study halls, but at least that was less work for Hill.

His morning went by slowly, punctuated by frequent glances at his laptop. He ate lunch at his desk, staring at the screen, and did bad sketches on a sheet of paper when he needed to pretend to be doing something.

During his period after lunch, Billy Kaplan came up to him and was asking about shading when an ear-shattering ringing erupted from Steve’s laptop and everyone in the class yelled and clamped their hands over their ears. Steve lunged for the computer and managed to mute it before racing for Sam’s office. As soon as the door was shut and he was seated he pressed accept, taking a moment to muss up his hair a bit in the way Bucky liked while the connection loaded.

And then he was  _ there _ .

Steve’s grin was threatening to split his face in two. Bucky looked tired but good - he was still too gorgeous for his own good, icy eyes clear and bright despite the bags beneath them. His smile was more restrained than Steve’s but  _ goddamn _ , it was beautiful.

“Hey,” Bucky said softly. Steve grinned even wider, which he hadn't thought possible.

“Hey,” he said a little breathlessly.

“Man, it’s good to see your face.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Buck. But less than a month now, right?”

“Yeah, Stevie, less than a month.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Steve asked, “How are you? How’s the team?”

“That’s classified,” Bucky said, smiling at Steve’s eye roll. “I’m doin’ alright. Can’t wait to get home to my best guy.”

“What a romantic.”

“Everyone’s good, they’re working on care package lists. You’ll be doing a lot of baking, just so you know.”

“I expected that.”

“How are you? Did Pepper decide to put your stuff in her gallery?”

“Yeah. She wants me to have an exhibition next year too.”

“That’s great, Stevie.”

“I’m not sure what I want to put in there, though. I need some cohesive series, but I can’t really think of anything. It’ll come to me, I guess.” Then Steve launched into a rant about this sketch he did that might look really good if he painted it (maybe with watercolors?) but he just couldn’t get the motivation to finish it. While he was talking, he examined every inch of Bucky’s pixelated form a little more closely.

He looked exhausted and stressed. Every bone in his body was slumped like he’d been ground down until there was barely anything left. The familiar crinkle around his eyes wasn’t there. His mouth was pulled tight, corners turned resolutely down, and the bags under his eyes were prominent. The entire time Steve was talking he was tapping his fingers on the table, an old anxious tic.

Steve knew deployments were tough on him. Bucky had never wanted to be a soldier. He didn’t enjoy it - Steve always teased him and called him a softie, but Buck was just more of a lover than a fighter. They were unalike in that respect. Bucky would be close to getting out, too, except he took a longer enlistment because they offered him a pretty sizable pay increase and a generous enlistment bonus, which he figured he’d need to get back on his feet once he was out. If Steve had anything to say about it, that bonus would stay in the bank just like Bucky would stay in his apartment, but he kept quiet about that.

So Bucky was only about halfway through his enlistment, which would mean another three years of hasty dates and maybe even another deployment (thrilling) before Steve’s master plan to keep Bucky around always could come to fruition. And honestly, Steve wasn’t sure if either one of them could take another three years like this. Bucky’s last deployment had worn the shit out of them both and, now that he was in spec ops, it had only gotten worse. Steve loved Bucky more than he’d ever thought possible, and not being able to see him, to hold him? It tore him up inside and he knew it tore Bucky up too.

Just a little while longer. Then they’d have two weeks - fourteen precious days - to spend together before...well, Steve didn’t like thinking about that part. 

He said, “I can’t wait to see you again.”

Bucky said with a slight scowl, “Yeah, I got it.”

Steve frowned a little at the screen. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“All I got’s thirty minutes, pal, and you just spent half of that talking my ear off about some theoretical painting.”

What. The. Fuck.

“What’s your problem right now?” Steve said, face starting to heat up. “You’re the one who asked about Pepper’s gallery.”

“Didn’t realize that meant getting a lecture, Mister Art Teacher, sir.”

“Hilarious. I was just trying to talk to you, I kinda thought that was the point of this.”

Bucky shrugged. “How’s Sam?”

“Fine,” Steve said shortly. Bucky’s eyes narrowed. 

“You gettin’ sour, Steve?” 

“I’m not the one here who seems to have a problem.”

“Yeah, how dare I not be all sunshine and rainbows in a war zone. Must have some kind of mental condition.”

Steve glared. “I never said that. You’re the one who got all pissed off. I get that you’re stressed right now but - ”

“Don’t even fucking start, Rogers, you have no fucking idea what I’m feeling like right now,” Bucky growled.

“Okay, who the fuck are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?” Steve shot back. “ _ My  _ Bucky would tell me how he’s feeling instead of picking a fight the one time we finally get a chance to Skype!”

“I’m not  _ your _ Bucky,” Bucky snarled, and Steve’s heart sank. The anger seeped out of him and he stared at the floor. 

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“What now?” 

“I just...I don’t want to fight right now, Buck. I don’t even know what the hell we’re fighting  _ about _ . So let’s not.” 

Bucky’s face hardened a bit like it usually did when he was upset. “What’s going on, Buck?” Steve asked gently. Snapping at Steve wasn’t something Bucky did, not unless things were going really bad. 

“Don’t worry about it, Steve.”

“You know that only makes me worry more. Please, Buck, just tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I can’t.” Bucky leaned back in his chair, looking at the floor. “I should go.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “What? I thought you had another five or ten minutes.” 

“Yeah, but Morita needed my help with something and we gotta do it before we move out. So. Love you.” 

He hung up before Steve could get in another word. 

Steve sat staring at the screen, struggling with his mental whiplash, for a long time after that. Bucky had seemed okay in the beginning, if a little worse for wear, but it was obvious that whatever was weighing on him was some pretty heavy shit. 

Oh god. Steve had fought with him right before he had to go on some risky mission and -

Sam opened the door to his office and immediately asked, “What’s wrong, man?” Steve tried to discreetly wipe his nose with his sleeve. 

“We fought.” His voice came out as an embarrassing whimper. “We fought and now he might get hurt, and - and he didn’t even let me say it  _ back _ , and - “ 

Sam tugged him up into a hug. “I think you should go home, man. I don’t know what’s going on but you aren’t in any condition to teach right now. Go home, calm down, and I’ll swing by later. Alright?” 

Steve felt a little bad about leaving Hill to deal with the rest of his classes, but he could recognize that Sam was right. Still in a daze, he packed up his stuff, made excuses to his students, and slipped out of the building. 

Bucky was going on a dangerous mission. That much Steve knew. He always got a little snappish before he went on tough missions. And Steve...Steve had picked a fight. A stupid fight, too - why had he done that? It had been  _ months _ since he and Bucky had last been able to Skype. He just had to ruin it when they finally got another chance. And make things awkward for when Bucky came home in a few weeks…

_ Don’t even start _ , Steve warned his brain.  _ He’s coming home _ . 

He was going on a dangerous mission. He might not make it.

Steve hadn’t even told him he loved him back.

The second he got home, Steve grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and started writing frantically.

 

_ Bucky, _

_ I’m so so so so sorry. I knew you were stressed about something and I shouldn't have started a fight and I’m so, so sorry. I love you so much. _

_ I know these deployments are hard on you. They’re hard for me too. I know that’s selfish of me, but I can’t help it. I miss you constantly, I hate that when I fuck up I have to wait for a letter to make it across the Atlantic before we can make up. I hate not having you here just as much as I know you hate not being here. _

_ We’ll get through this. Then it’ll just be you and me, sweetheart, till the end of the line.  _

_ I love you, and I’m sorry. Stay safe. Come home. _

_ \- Steve _

He stuffed the letter into an envelope and once it was addressed and stamped he ran down and stuffed it in his mailbox.

_ Please, please let him get it in time. _

* * *

Steve calmed down slightly over the next couple days. Sam did indeed come over to talk to him (with a container of brownies, because Sam’s approach to comfort was to make Steve talk about his feelings while stuffing his face with junk food - surprisingly effective) and helped Steve calm down. Bucky would be fine. Of course Bucky would be fine - he always was. Even in the direst of circumstances, the most dangerous of missions, Buck always managed to pull through.

Steve busied himself with making plans for Bucky’s leave. He’d probably need a couple days to rest, but then they could start decorating Steve’s apartment. He was carefully procrastinating on putting the tree up, because despite how much he complained Steve knew Bucky loved helping to set up the tree. He’d put on some overly-cheery Christmas station on the radio and sing, decked out in a Santa hat and a cozy sweater, carefully placing each ornament on the tree just so while Steve baked or hung up his multicolored lights that Bucky hated and absolutely refused to let anywhere near the tree. Then, once it was done, they’d turn off all the lights except for the tree and snuggle down to watch  _ The Muppet Christmas Carol _ .

Steve already had Bucky’s gift wrapped up and hidden in his closet with the sign he’d made for when he’ll go pick up Bucky from the airport. He’s got a lot to live up to - Bucky’s last homecoming was, if Steve may say so himself, pretty fucking awesome. Steve had several plans in mind to make this one even better.

It was a Saturday, and he had no food, so rather than order another pizza he headed for the grocery store on the corner while he fantasized Bucky’s leave. They wouldn’t leave the bed for days if Steve had anything to say about it. Maybe they could go to the park if it was horribly cold. Ice skating in Rockefeller Center. All the necessary cheesy Christmas activities. Steve could finally paint him properly like he’s always wanted to - Bucky’s always refused to sit for anything more than quick pencil sketches, but Christmas makes him sappy, so it might work. After all, Steve needs a subject for his exhibition at Pepper’s gallery. And who better than the person he loves most in all the world?

Steve was humming by the time he got home and he decided to do some painting before dealing with the bags of groceries. He pulled out his old watercolor set which he’s been meaning to practice more with and starts painting without bothering to sketch something out first. It ends up being a winter scene, snow falling onto hazy New York buildings, while two men walk hand-in-hand, their backs to the camera. It came out pretty good considering Steve hasn’t painted with watercolors in at least six months. He started to clean up, satisfied, when there was a knock on his door.

Steve tried to wipe some of the paint off his hands (and face - no clue how that happened) as he went over to the door. Smiling, he swung it open and was met with the sight of two men in Army dress greens. His grip tightened on the doorknob.

_ No no no no no no no no -- _

“Are you Steven Grant Rogers?” one asked him. His nametag read ‘Saunders.’ 

“Yes,” Steve managed out.

“May we come in?”

Steve stumbled out of the doorway and clutched the countertop for support. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears.

“Perhaps you should sit down.”

Steve sat.

“Mister Rogers, we regret to inform you that Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was killed in action twenty-four hours ago. Sergeant Barnes indicated on his forms he wanted you to be notified first..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry just please I promise I'll fix it


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: A Fucking Cold Desert, confusion, dehydration, and a whole lotta page breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh so I basically gave up trying to make this longer because I'm lazy and also very bad at writing long things. Also I don't think I've ever updated this twice in a week so...new record!

Bucky’s eyes popped open. 

He jumped to his feet - or would have, anyway, had his left arm not been pinned under a tank. 

Bucky stared at it, panicked, as the pain started to register, so intense he felt like he was going to black out. Blood had pooled around him, forming dark patches in the sand. His arm was crushed. 

He had to get out. They'd been fighting - fighting - where was his team? Judging by the dryness in his mouth, he'd been here a while. They'd...left him? 

Why would they leave him behind?

Bucky stared at his arm. He had to get out from underneath this tank. He tried to extract his arm, but pain shot through his shredded skin that was so intense he had to stop. There was no way for him to push it off either.

Oh god.

With a trembling hand, he pulled out his knife, and screamed when the serrated blade sawed into his skin.

* * *

 

Bucky had no idea where he was. 

And, he didn't have anything. No water, no food, no compass. Half a pant leg was serving as a bandage for what was left of his arm. There was his uniform, the latest letter from Steve, and nothing else. 

He had to get back to base. He had to get back to Steve. 

They'd been heading east when they'd been ambushed. So he needed to go west, and hope he stumbled upon the base.  _ Great plan, Barnes. Hope for the best. Strategically brilliant.  _

Bucky told his internal self to shut up and glanced up at the sun. It was probably setting. Maybe. With a sigh, Bucky started off towards what he thought was west, hoping desperately that he was right. He could make sure at night, using the stars, but he couldn't afford to just sit and wait until then. 

It was fucking cold in the desert. The second Bucky got home he was stealing all of Steve's sweatshirts. 

A flash of guilt went through him at the thought of Steve. He'd been a jerk when they'd Skyped. He was gonna get out of here. He was going to make it out and he was going to apologize to Steve and he was never going to let him go again. 

In the meantime, his throat felt like fucking sandpaper. Bucky wondered briefly how the whole selling your soul thing worked, because if it meant he could get some water, he might consider it. 

He walked, and walked, and walked. His legs hurt and his throat burned and his stomach was growling and his stump was aching and he missed Steve and it was  _ fucking cold _ in the desert and - 

Bucky started crying. 

Not manful tears either - this was full on sobbing, tears carving tracks into the dust on his face as he gasped for air and wiped away snot with his sleeve. He fell to the sand and clutched his stomach and sobbed. 

He was alive. Damn it, he was alive, and he was gonna fucking stay that way. He yanked the picture of Steve and Lucky out of his pocket and held it against his chest, rocking back and forth as he sobbed and hugged the picture. 

_ Only a couple hours, and you're already having a mental breakdown.  _

Well Bucky didn’t fucking care. 

_ You’ll just get dehydrated faster if you keep this up.  _

That got him to wipe his eyes and stumble to his feet. Dying from dehydration was a serious danger. He couldn't waste valuable water crying. 

(He didn't stop holding the picture of Steve, though.

* * *

 

This was bad. 

Bucky was very,  _ very  _ dehydrated. The sand was warping in front of him, the ground seemed to be shaking and twisting beneath his feet. 

And it was fucking. Cold. In. The. Fucking. Desert. 

Bucky kept stumbling forward, his hand clutching the picture. Keep going. Keep going. 

Steve always said that, because his ma had always said it to him. When Steve was getting the shit beaten out of him in school his ma would clean and bandage his cuts and say, “Keep your chin up, and keep going.” She said it when he graduated, when he got cancer, right before she died. Steve loved it so much that one year Bucky had even paid some guy to write it in a cool calligraphy font on a card for his birthday. The card was now in a gold frame on Steve’s desk. Bucky could picture it, sitting there on Steve’s immaculate desk, next to his Pratt pennant and the picture of the two of them at Pride. A sudden wave of homesickness washed over him, almost knocking him off his feet. He'd give anything to be in that apartment right now. Anything to be with Steve, to be held and comforted and told that he could make it through this, that they'd survive together. 

Bucky was still trying to piece together what had happened. He remembered scouting out some terrain with Barton and Natasha (Jones, Morita, and Kate were in the other tank) and they'd been talking about whether or not brownies were better than cake (they were), and then there'd been an explosion and - 

Bucky couldn't remember the rest. Somehow he ended up pinned under a tank, and his team had left him behind. Which wasn't like them at all. They were a unit, they'd pledged never to leave each other behind.

God, what if something had happened to them?

It had been at least 24 hours since they'd been ambushed, as evident by Bucky’s severe state of dehydration. That was plenty of time for them to be captured, tortured, even killed. 

He didn't know what the hell had happened but he knew he was down one arm and five teammates, and he was determined to get back to base and fix this.

* * *

 

It was cold.

Bucky was sleeping. Trying to, anyway.

At least now he knew he was going the right way.

* * *

He looked at the picture of Steve a lot. It was worn down and crinkled by now, on account of Bucky folding and unfolding it so often. Steve's hair was freshly cut, a smear of paint was hidden underneath his ear, and his smile was so bright Bucky probably could've used it as a flashlight. He looked beautiful. Radiant. Happy.

It had been over 24 hours since Bucky had been left for dead. Had someone called Steve to tell him Bucky was missing? Or had two officers just shown up at his door? Or had no one told him anything and he was blissfully unaware that Bucky was here, stumbling through the dark, cold desert without a flashlight because he couldn't relax enough to sleep?

Bucky preferred the latter. 

But if he was being honest with himself, he knew he probably wasn't making it out of this alive. His stump had been steadily leaking blood, and he was even more dehydrated than before, so dizzy he was barely able to walk. His stomach was gnawing at him and he was tired all the way down to his bones - he hurt everywhere, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. So eventually, Steve would get that letter or those officers. How would he react? Bucky knew Steve could live without him, but would he be the same? Would he all smiley and dorky and happy? Or would he just become a shell of that?

Bucky sighed. He was going to get out of here. He had to get out of here. Steve was waiting for him, and someone needed to put the goddamn tree up.

* * *

 

Bucky kept blindly stumbling around until he tripped and fell face-first into the sand.

It took him a good half hour to summon the strength to start crawling forward.

* * *

 

The second time he collapsed, many hours later, as the sun was reaching its peak, he saw Steve in front of him, urging him forward with a gentle smile, hair bright as the sun. Bucky reached out for him, and the vision disappeared.

Bucky didn’t get back up this time.

* * *

 

_ “There’s someone over here!” _

 

* * *

Bucky dreamed.

He dreamed of Steve, smiling and laughing. He dreamed of Natasha, Barton, and the rest of his unit, telling stories as they huddled together. He dreamed of his parents, long dead, and his sister, who he hadn’t spoken to since he’d left for college. He dreamed in colors so bright they’d make his eyes hurt and hues so dark he could barely make anything out.

He dreamed, and stopped hurting for a while.

* * *

When Bucky opened his eyes, a woman was standing next to him.

“Whereami,” he slurred. 

“You’re in Germany, hun,” she said. “I’m Rochelle, your nurse.”

“Wheressteve.”

“I’m not sure who Steve is, honey, but I’m sure you’ll see him soon.”

Bucky glanced around the room until he saw the little calendar and clock sitting on his nightstand. It was 0928 on December 19th, and he was alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you I'd fix it. 
> 
> I'm imhereforgaysuperheroes on Tumblr!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: Sad Steve™, the Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, a very confused Sam Wilson, and a person who may or may not be alive.

“Steve?” 

A pause, then another knock. 

“Steve, open the door, man.” 

Steve didn't get up from where he was lying on his couch, staring at the blank TV. 

“Look, I know you're going through a lot right now, buddy, but I'm worried about you, and you need to let me in.”

Steve sighed and managed to push himself into an upright position, swaying in his feet as he stumbled over to the door. As soon as it was open he flopped down on the couch once more.

“Jesus, Steve, it smells horrible in here.” Sam crouched by Steve's head. “School starts in thirty minutes. Are you coming in today?” Steve didn't respond. “You should really come into work, bud. Your students miss you, they keep asking about you.” Sam paused before continuing. “You have to learn to live without him at some point.”

A stray tear slipped down Steve's cheek and he burrowed into the couch to hide it. He'd lived twenty-six years without Bucky. He couldn’t take another twenty-six. They were...they were soulmates, were meant to spend the rest of their lives together…and all they got were three fucking short years.

Fuck the universe. Fuck the Army. Fuck society for not paying history majors enough and driving Bucky to enlist.

Fuck.

Steve was crying now and he hid his face further in the couch. Sam rested a hand on his back.

“It's okay to miss him,” Sam said softly, “but Barnes was always looking out for you, man, and you know he wouldn't want this for you. Just...why don't you get a shower and come to school with me?”

Steve sniffed and mumbled into the couch cushion, “Do the kids know?”

“It’s a high school. Everybody knows. But nobody is going to think any differently of you, okay? The kids just want to know you’re alright.”

“‘M not.”

“I know. They don’t have to know that, though.” Steve propped open one eye and Sam smiled a little. “Come on. Shower.”

Sam helped Steve up and somehow Steve ended up at the school, clean but unshaven, not really understanding how he got there. He sat at his desk and stared forward and the entire day went by in a haze, just a stream of students filtering in and out.

The last time he was here, he'd been waiting for Bucky's Skype call. And now, Bucky was dead.

Bucky was dead.

Bucky was dead.

Bucky was dead.  

Bucky was -

Steve burst out crying, and the entire class jumped. Someone said, “Kamala, get Mr. Wilson,” and there was a hand on his back and someone kept saying, “Uh, it's okay, Mr. Rogers,” but it wasn't okay because he loved Bucky so goddamn much and now Bucky was dead he was dead  _ HE WAS DEAD AND IT WAS STEVE’S FAULT _

“Steve? Guys, you can all head out early, just be quiet so you don't disturb the other classes. Steve, buddy, talk to me.” 

“He's gone,” Steve sobbed out, holding onto his desk so he wouldn't fall out of his chair. “He's gone and he's not coming back and it's my fault!”

“Hey, that's not true. It was...it was just a horrible accident, Steve. It wasn't anything you could control.”

“I argued with him. I made him think I didn't l-love him.”

“There's no way he could've thought that. Bucky always knew how much you loved him, that never changed.”

“How do you know?”

“Anyone who met him knew. He never shut up about you.”

Sam hugged him and Steve let him, still crying and feeling about two inches tall. “Maybe you should go home,” Sam murmured. “I'm sorry, I pushed you too far. Go home, get something to eat. I can walk you - ”

“Mister Rogers?” 

Steve wiped his eyes and looked up, sniffling. Parker was standing in the doorway. “Um, I just wanted to say that, uh, I'm really sorry. My uncle died a few years ago so I, um, I know what it's like, and…yeah. All of us seniors, we're really sorry, and, um…” He stepped inside and pulled a Starbucks gift card out of his pocket. “I know it's not, like, anything special, but we always see you with Starbucks so we figured we could at least make that a bit easier. Um, yeah.”

Steve felt a sudden surge of affection for Parker. He stood up and took the gift card. “Thanks, Peter. That's really thoughtful of you, I appreciate it.”

Parker smiled a little. “It was the whole class, not just me. You're staying till seventh period, right? Everyone else wants to say hi.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I'll stay until seventh period.”

“Cool.” Parker gave an awkward wave and quickly left the room.

“You sure you want to stay?” Sam asked as Steve examined the Starbucks card. He hadn't cared that much for coffee, but Bucky had started bringing him Starbucks every day he could when he was stateside, and Steve had gotten hooked. He didn't realize his students had noticed.

“Yeah.” Steve turned and hugged Sam tightly. “Thanks for being there for me.”

“Don't mention it,” Sam said, sounding a little choked up. Steve hooked his chin on Sam's shoulder and hoped he understood everything Steve wasn't ready to say yet. And of course he did. He was Sam.

* * *

 

Natasha had sent him a letter, after it happened. Steve got it a couple days after the officers had come to notify him. 

_ Steve,  _

_I'm sure you know by now._ _I'm not sure how much they told you, so...here’s what happened. We were scouting for a op we were supposed to run in a couple days and got ambushed. We had to abandon our tank but they managed to get control of it and somehow James ended up pinned under. I’m not sure if he was dead at that point or just unconscious but a transport was there and we had to leave. It all went by so fast, I didn’t realize we were leaving him there until we were already gone. It’s my fault he’s dead. I’m sorry._

_ James had his secrets, like the rest of us, and there were a lot of things he didn’t get the chance to tell you, but he was a great guy and we all know how much he cared about you. I don’t know if there’s anything we can do, or if you’ll even want to see us after what happened, but if you do want to talk to someone or if you need anything then all of the 10th SFG(A)  is at your service. _

_ \- Natasha Romanov _

Steve hadn’t spoken to anyone in Bucky’s unit. He couldn’t, not yet. Not until he could look them in the eyes without picturing them leaving the love of his life pinned beneath a tank to die.

* * *

Steve did make it through to the end of the day and when he got home he found another casserole from Mrs. Norris sitting on his doorstep. He stuck it in the fridge with all the others and flipped on the TV so it wasn’t so quiet.

The Christmas tree was still in its box, shoved against the wall. Steve made a point not to look at it.

He was halfway through an episode of  _ Friends  _ when his landline rang, and he managed to pick himself up off the couch despite how exhausted he was because if anyone was bothering to call the landline, it was probably something important. He grabbed the phone off the wall and said, “This is Steve Rogers.”

“Steve?”

Steve frowned. “Clint?”

“Yeah, Steve -  _ I’m fucking talking to him Kate, okay?  _ \- um, so you know Nat’s letter?”

“Why did you call?” Steve asked, probably a little too defensive. Clint didn’t seem to notice.

“Um...Fuck, I don’t know how to say this -  _ Kate -  _ Steve, this is Kate Bishop. Barnes is alive. He was airlifted to a hospital in Germany two days ago and today he regained consciousness.”

Steve blinked. “Sorry?”

“He’s alive.”

“Is…is this a dream?”

“No, it’s not a dream.” Steve pinched himself, just to make sure, and his blood ran cold.  _ Oh my god. He’s alive. _

“How?” he managed out, simultaneously crying and laughing from...shock? Relief? Both?

“We aren’t sure yet. He just showed up back at camp, dehydrated and missing an arm.” 

“What - he’s injured?”

“Look, I can give you the number for the hospital he’s in, I’m sure someone there can connect you to him or answer your questions. Honestly, that’s all I know.”

“Could I get that number?”

Kate rattled it off, and Steve scribbled it down, and his entire body felt numb by the time Kate said, “Call us when you talk to him, okay? We’re…we’re all really glad he’s alright.” 

Steve stared down at the number in his hand. Bucky was alive. Bucky was alive. Bucky was alive.

He still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t dreaming.

“I will,” he said, and then he hung up the phone.

* * *

 

Sam opened the door after about ten seconds of Steve banging on it and the second it swung open Steve burst through, snatching up Sam’s laptop and throwing it open before Sam had recovered enough from the mental whiplash to shut the door. 

“Hey, Steve,” he said slowly, closing the door and approaching his frantically-typing friend. “What’s going on?”

“He’s alive. He’s alive and he’s in a hospital but this number’s wrong - ”

“Steve, Bucky’s dead.” 

Steve snapped, “No, he’s not!” without even bothering to look up. Sam sighed. He really didn’t want to deal with this right now. 

“Steve, buddy, you got the notification - “

“They made a mistake! He made it back, he’s in a hospital.”

“Which hospital?” Sam asked. Steve banged his fist on the computer.

“I don’t know.”

“Is it possible you were taking a nap and - ”

“It wasn’t a dream, Sam!” Steve yelled, spinning around to face him. “Kate’s in his unit, she called me and she told me he was alive and she gave me the hospital’s number but it won’t work so I need to find it I need to go see him - “

“Woah, man, breathe.” Sam grabbed onto Steve’s bicep to try and anchor him before he went into a full-on panic attack. “In and out, you got it. Did Kate tell you which hospital?”

“No,” Steve whimpered. Oh great. He was crying. Sam had made the human equivalent of a golden retriever cry.

“We’ll google it, alright?”

Landstuhl Regional Medical Center was the biggest US military hospital on foreign soil, and therefore the hospital Bucky would likely be in, so they found the number and Steve went out on the fire escape to call it.

Sam started making brownies.

He could remember that phase. Where suddenly everything seemed like a hint that Riley was still alive, that Sam just wasn’t looking hard enough. He got through it, in part because of Steve. Steve had been there for him. Sam sure as hell was gonna be there for Steve when he realized James Buchanan Barnes wasn’t at the Landstuhl med center.

Once the brownies were in the oven he glanced outside. Steve was crying harder now. He hung up the phone and curled up against the wall, which Sam took that as his cue to go outside and crouch down beside him.

“You okay, man?” he asked. Steve smiled at him through the tears running down his cheeks and wiped his nose.

“Y-yeah. He was tired, but...he  _ talked to me _ , Sam. I got to t-talk to him again, I thought - I thought I’d n-never - “

“You actually spoke to him?” Sam said carefully. This had to be some hallucination or something on Steve’s part. Maybe his mental health was worse than Sam had thought.

“I’d know if it wasn’t him, Sam.”

“Steve...Bucky’s gone, okay? Whoever you spoke to, that wasn’t him.”

Steve frowned. “But he’s alive.”

“I’ve been there, man, but he’s gone, the officers came to your house - “

“But I told you Kate called and told me he was alive.” Steve’s eyes narrowed a bit. “You think I’m crazy?”

“Of course not, Steve, you’ve just been through a lot - “

“He’s alive! I’m not dreaming, I’m not crazy, I’m not hallucinating or imagining things! Bucky’s alive!” Steve stormed past Sam and threw open the door. “I have to go to Germany.”

“Hold on, bud.” Sam gently took his hand off the door and shut it. “You can’t just go charging off to Germany. You don’t have a passport, for one.”

“Then I'll get one.”

“You can afford an expedited passport, round-trip last-minute airfare, a hotel room, food - “

“I see your point,” Steve snapped, face red.

“Does he know if he's being moved stateside anytime soon?”

“I don't know, I just…he was tired.” Steve looked at him, eyes still wet. “It's real. This is real, right? I'm not...I'm not making this up?”

Sam honestly wasn't entirely sure himself, but god help him, he wasn't about to destroy Steve by saying so. “No,” he said. “You're not making it up. I just didn't know the full story, that's all.”

Steve nodded. “So what do I do?”

“Call back later, see if he knows when he’ll be brought over here. Otherwise Army people should be getting in touch with you soon to notify you and you can ask them.”

“Tony has a hospital. The medical innovation or whatever wing of Stark Industries. Do you think Bucky could be brought there?”

Sam shrugged. “I honestly have no clue. I never had to deal with this part.” There wasn’t anything of Riley left to be brought to a hospital after it happened. Sam had realized then that the only thing worse than burying your husband was having to bury an empty casket instead.

Steve looked down at his knee. “I feel like I should be more excited than I am.”

“You’re probably exhausted. You’ve been through a lot today. You've been through a lot in the past  _ hour _ .”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll wake you up when the brownies are done.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve said with a soft smile. Once he was settled on the couch, Sam went back to watching his brownies.

All he could do was hope that if Bucky was indeed alive, he’d hurry on home sooner rather than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my good updating record has fallen to pieces thanks to a lot of fun mental health stuff and the presidential election. But I'm fine. Not dead inside at all, no siree. 
> 
> If you guys have stuck with this story to this point, thank you. Your comments make my day.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here! ](http://imhereforgaysuperheroes.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: Stark Industries' horribly-named medical center, another reunion, Sappy Steve™, and a man who finally gets to come home.

“Barnes. Bucko. Buckaroo. Buckaroo Barnes. That’s catchy, you should change your name.”

Bucky looked down at the phone. “Hello?” he tried again. 

“So it’s Tony Stark, yanno, your not-husband's super rich and awesome friend, and guess what, Mr. Rogers isn’t having a great time in the neighborhood so we’re gonna get you back to the neighborhood so I don’t have a human teddy bear moping around my building. Oh by the way congrats on the whole not being dead thing, that must be nice. So pack your bags Mr. Smith and I’ll see you here in a couple days.”

“...What.”

Stark sighed dramatically. “You. Are coming to the Medical Technology and Innovation Division of Stark Industries Medical Center - I know, we’re working on the name, trying to come up with more cool acronyms.”

“I thought I was supposed to be transferred to Walter Reed?”

“Well, I like fucking with the government. So you’re coming to New York and you can hang out with your not-husband between all the incredibly painful treatments and surgeries.”

“Gee, thanks, Stark.”

“I know. I’m amazing.”

There was a sudden silence in his ear and Bucky glanced at the phone. The bastard hung up on him.

Bucky was more than ready to get out of Germany and get out of this hospital room, but the speed at which he was brought to New York came as a bit of a shock. By the end of the day, he was being escorted out of the hospital to a car, which took him to a private landing strip, and he was helped into a private jet and given approximately six blankets.

If this was what being rich was like, Bucky couldn’t blame Stark for being the way he was. You could get drunk on this kind of treatment.

A flight attendant came up and poured him a glass of apple juice (apparently Stark was protective of his alcohol) and he reached out to take it, startled when he realized there wasn’t any arm to extend. The flight attendant had obviously noticed. After Bucky had twisted to take it with his right hand, she beat a hasty retreat.

It had been like that ever since he woke up in Germany. He kept forgetting that one of his arms was gone, that it was still pinned under a tank somewhere in the Iraqi desert, cut off from his body in a jagged line because Bucky’s hand had trembled as he sliced through -

Bad. Stop it. Don’t think about that.

Because the cut was so jagged, though, the doctors said they’d have to do more surgeries, some skin grafts, so he could look somewhat normal without having to wear these bandages on his arm - well, stump, he supposed. For now, though, the ugly bandaged stump was what he was stuck with. He wasn’t... _ whole _ , anymore.

At least Steve wouldn’t have to see him like this. All he’d have to do was make it to Stark’s medical center and Stark had already promised him a private room so Steve couldn’t see him until after all the surgeries were over and he looked normal again.

Well. Closer to normal. 

For the few hours Bucky could distract himself but then he realized that, despite the luxurious ride, it was a long way to New York. He was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open but he couldn’t sleep. Getting to sleep was hard enough, but over the past few nights he’d been getting nightmares, and he really didn’t want to put the flight attendant through that. So awake he would stay.

The flight attendant dropped a book in his lap when she passed by, and he made a mental note to tell Stark to give her a raise.

And it was even historical fiction. Go flight attendant.

Bucky paged through the well-loved copy of  _ Uprising _ , which turned out to be about the Shirtwaist Workers Strike in 1909 and the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire. Bucky vaguely recalled a piece of one of his college classes that touched on the fire, but it was interesting to read about. His eyes were watering by the time he finished it four hours later and he handed it back to the flight attendant the next time she passed.

Bucky started making a mental list of what he wanted to do once he got back. First, he’d need to call Steve again, for both their sakes. He’d also been wanting to call his unit and talk to them, Natasha especially. They were probably worried. He’d have to talk to Stark too, thank him for bringing Bucky back to New York.

Bucky also wanted to call Rebecca.

He hadn’t spoken to his sister since he came out and his aunt kicked him out. He was in his junior year of college at the time and there was this guy he thought he was in love with who had a problem with Bucky being closeted. And Bucky, being an idiot, came out to his rich, conservative aunt and uncle despite the fact that he was relying on them to pay his tuition. They kicked him out, stopped paying, and never spoke to him again. He’d tried to connect with Becca the next year, after he’d finally come to his senses and dumped Brock, but she hadn’t responded.

Bucky figured it was time to try again.

He’d also have to figure out whether or not he was still in the Army. No one had been in contact to tell him he’d been discharged, but he wasn’t sure how he could keep serving in Special Forces when he was...well, down a limb. If not, there was the matter of how to find a job he could do with only one arm. And where he could live.

Bucky snorted to himself imagining the look on Steve's face if Bucky said that to him. He'd probably get yelled at, for good measure. It was a concern, though. Steve wanted to live with Bucky Barnes, a man who was serving his country and sort of had his life together.

Now? Bucky barely knows who he is anymore.

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief when they finally landed on Stark’s private strip. Nothing like a few painful surgeries to distract a man.

Then he got out of the plane and saw the mountain of a man standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers and a faded, slightly crumpled sign that said, ‘ _ WELCOME HOME, JERK.’ _

“Welcome back to the land of freedom, Barnes,” Stark said, seemingly unaware that Bucky was staring at Steve.

“I thought you would help keep Steve from seeing me like this,” Bucky murmured.  _ Jesus, had he always looked this beautiful? _

“Huh. Don't recall that.”

Yeah, good call on that one.

Bucky started moving forward, slowed by the biting wind, so he moved a little faster, and a little faster, until he was running at this stupid, perfect man who showed up with a bouquet of fucking chrysanthemums and that fucking sign -

They slammed together and Bucky only held on tighter, cursing the fact that he only had one arm with which to cling to Steve, smelling Steve's fancy cologne he barely ever uses and the fruity shampoo in his hair. Steve's face was tucked into his neck and he was crying, tears smudging onto Bucky's skin.

Bucky didn't cry. He only felt calm. Like he'd finally managed to find his way home.

Steve said, “Thanks for coming back.”

Bucky responded, “Thanks for being here.”

It wasn't much like their first reunion, but that was okay. It was still a reunion, after all.

Steve sniffled and pulled away, looking down at the now-crumpled flowers in his hands. “I'll get you new ones,” he mumbled.

“ I love them, Steve, thank you.”

He bent to pick up the sign, which had fallen to the ground in their rush, and Bucky said, “I didn’t realize you kept that.”

Steve smiled at him. “Of course I did. I keep everything.”

“Hoarder.”

Steve only smiled wider and bent down to kiss him gently, sweetly, the complete opposite of their desperate embrace just a few moments ago. Forget everything Bucky said before. He’d drag Steve with him to the hospital himself.

“You’ll stay with me?” Steve murmured once they broke apart, looking actually nervous.

“Of course, idiot.”

“Good to see your endearing nicknames are still intact.”

“Course they are, Stevie-doll.”

Bucky could almost forget that he sawed his own arm off when he saw Steve grin and roll his eyes. This was what he walked through that fucking cold desert to get back to. This is what Bucky was missing every time he was deployed.

Steve was here. Everything was perfect.

* * *

 

Everything sucked. 

Bucky's stupid fucking stump of an arm hurt all the time from the poking and prodding of doctors and he could never get any sleep and they kept sticking needles in him for tests and bloodwork and Steve was driving him abso-fucking-lutely insane.

Steve spent a lot of time in hospitals, between his ma’s illnesses and his own, and while Bucky was content to let doctors stick him with whatever Steve insisted on asking about every single drug they put in him and the specifics of every single procedure they wanted to do, and when he was unsure about something or it was a new experimental treatment they had to wait until Stark himself could come to the medical center and explain what it did and what the potential side effects were. The doctors all hated him for it. Bucky wasn't so fond of him himself at that point.

“Amphazetanine? What's that?” Steve barked at the doctor. He was a younger guy, probably just out of med school. Bucky sent him a sympathetic look.

“Um, it's a new pain reliever I developed,” Young Doctor mumbled. “For the phantom limb feeling. Uh, and nerves.”

“‘Uh, and nerves?’” Steve repeated, eyebrow raised. “Get Mister Stark, please.”

“It's fine, Steve,” Bucky tried to cut in, but Steve merely glared at him and sent a withering look towards the doctor, who went scurrying out of the room.

“I’m not letting them pump you full of who-knows-what,” Steve snapped at Bucky. “I wish you could be in a normal hospital. Not in a Stark hospital, where there’s all this weird tech and - “

“And all the new horrible life-saving treatments,” Bucky said sarcastically. Steve glared again.

“Are you sure you couldn’t go to a normal hospital?”

“I’d still be in Germany if it wasn’t for Stark. He only convinced them to let me stay here because he’s working on a new line of prosthetics and wants a guinea pig.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. “Like hell am I letting them turn you into a guinea pig.”

“I ever tell you you’re too protective for your own good?”

“I ever tell you I don’t care?"

Bucky rolled his eyes and went back to watching the TV Stark had put in his room. “Shouldn’t you be at school?” he muttered.

“I got a sub. It’s fine.” 

“You can’t lose your job.”

“I’m not going to, Buck,” Steve muttered.

“Fine. Whatever.”

Steve sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Speaking of jobs, have you thought about what you’d like to do? I hear Dugan’s thinking about retiring. You could be a history teacher. I know I can get you an interview - “

“I’ll think about it,” Bucky responded shortly. Steve got the hint and shut up, but not before another hefty sigh. 

That was about how it’d gone since Bucky came back. Their reunion had been great, but then real life set in. Bucky was still antsy about Steve seeing him with only one infected arm, Steve had to scramble to find a sub to cover his classes while he used up the rest of his vacation days to babysit Bucky, Sam kept bugging Bucky to get in touch with the VA, Bucky didn’t know if he still had a job - 

And really, what else could he do? His options were limited enough before, when he’d been stupid enough to get a degree in history without bothering to look into career options. Now, he was a disabled vet. Steve had suggested working in a museum, but how was he supposed to do that with absolutely no experience? He didn’t want to be a librarian or a lawyer and for god’s sakes, he didn’t want to be a fucking high school teacher. Kudos to Steve for being able to put up with that, but Bucky wasn’t meant to teach and had never wanted to teach. 

Which left...nothing. 

Fun.

* * *

 

It wasn’t until Bucky was sent home that he had a chance to call Becca. 

He was formally discharged on medical grounds and Sam had helped him get disability benefits from the VA. He left Stark Industries’ hospital on the 20th. Steve took him home. 

Ugh. Tacky multi-colored Christmas lights. 

Steve had used up all his vacation days, so he had to go to work, and he fretted over that from the minute they got to his place to the minute he left on Monday. Bucky had assured him he’d be fine. 

So now, he was totally, finally alone, and able to call Becca. 

He pressed her contact in his phone and hoped while it dialed that she still used this number.

“Hello?”

Jackpot. 

“Hey, Becca? It’s Bucky.” 

Silence on the other end. Bucky felt his heart sink.  _ You tried _ , he reminded himself.  _ That’s all you can do _ . “I can hang up if you want. I just wanted to let you know I got discharged from the army. Nothing dishonorable or anything, medical discharge, and I’m back in New York now.”

“...Do you need a place to stay?” 

Bucky rubbed his forehead. “I’m not calling to ask for a spare room, Becca. I’m living with my boyfriend, Steve.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I just thought maybe we could meet up? We haven’t done that in a while. You could come back to Brooklyn and we can go to a Rangers game or something.” 

“I’m at work right now, Bucky. I’ll call you back.” Then she hung up on him. 

Bucky sighed, dropped the phone on the couch, and pulled on Steve’s jacket. He had to get out of there.

He couldn't get the zipper up. 

Fuck everything. 

Bucky threw the coat on the ground and flopped back onto the couch. Wasn't like he had anywhere to go anyway. 

When Steve got home and saw Bucky still laying on the couch, he just sighed, hung up his heavy coat, and plopped down next to him, tucking himself in Bucky until they were almost pressed together completely. Bucky could feel his warm breath on his neck. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Steve mumbled, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s collarbone. “Missed you so much.”

“It was only a few hours,” Bucky argued weakly, tangling his fingers in Steve’s hair. 

“Not just today. These past few months. Missed you all the time, drove myself crazy when your letters came late, couldn’t get you outta my head.”

“I missed you too, Steve.”

“But now you’re here,” Steve murmured against his chest. “I’m so happy, feels like I’m dreaming. I know it’s not perfect, but...we’re together, so it could be a lot worse.” 

Bucky smiled for the first time in several days at that and dropped his head to kiss the top of Steve’s. “Yeah. Could be a lot worse. Punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve shot back sleepily. Good god, Bucky almost doesn’t mind the fact that he had to lose his arm to make this happen. To be able to just lay here with Steve, not worrying about reporting back to base, not counting down the days left on his leave. This is where he’s meant to be. 

“Whatcha do today?” Steve asked. 

“Nothing much. What about you?”

“Same old. Oh, and I need to go in early tomorrow. Parker was asking about art scholarships, told him I’d help him get started.”

“Steve Rogers: teacher extraordinaire.” 

“Oh shut up.” 

“Side effect of having me back, Rogers. Can’t just fold up my letters when you’re sick of me.” 

Steve gave him the sappiest smile Bucky had ever seen in his life as he said, “Totally worth it.” 

Bucky leaned down to kiss him. Yeah, nothing about this situation was perfect, and there were still tougher times ahead, he was sure of that. But when he and Steve were together? May God have mercy on whatever tried to stand in their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's being awesome and updating frequently?
> 
> (*ignores projects that haven't been updated for three months*)
> 
> So anyway, they're reunited! Yayyyy! I only have a few more chapters to go in this and I'm very excited because I've never actually finished a story before. So yayyyy again!
> 
> Your comments feed the writing monster inside me, thank you. 
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr ](http://imhereforgaysuperheroes.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: Midnight forays into Parks & Recreation, the cunning and trickery of Mrs. Norris, Steve's poor taste in Christmas lights (again), and a kinda crappy New Year's Eve.

Once the senior class was settled in their seats, Steve stood up and walked to the front of his desk, leaning back on it. “Hey guys,” he said. “Before we start class I just wanted to thank you all for being so understanding about my absences the past couple weeks. It’s been a rollercoaster of a month but it really helps to know that you guys are responsible enough to keep making progress, even without me here. Oh, and thank you very much for the Starbucks gift card, which was unnecessary but appreciated.” Steve smiled at them, then clapped his hands together.

“Okay. Now for the real stuff. Winter break starts tomorrow - “

Cue the cursory whoops and cheers.

“ - and our showcase is January 5th.”

Cue the groans. Steve bit back a smile.

“Which means,” he continued, “that if your collection isn’t finished yet, you will need to work on it over break. And don’t forget, you need to have at least three pieces, with a central theme. If you haven’t gotten your theme approved yet, come see me _now_ , because you’re running out of time and you can’t enter the showcase without an approved theme. It’s kinda important, since this decides whether you pass or not. For those of you who won’t be able to finish by the end of class, I can come in a couple days over break to unlock the studio and give you more time. So talk to each other and pick a couple days that work if you need them. You’re also welcome to take any supplies you need with you, just write down what you took and your name on this sheet of paper before you leave class so we can keep track of everything. Sound good?” A few unenthusiastic murmurs. “Great. Let’s get to it.”

Steve was actually working on his own project today as well. Pepper’s new gallery’s opening was in May and she was insistent on putting one of his pieces in. The theme of the night was “Love,” probably done by the marketing team to encourage people to attend the opening in the name of a romantic evening, but Steve didn’t have much of a problem abiding by that. The sketch of Bucky was already done on the canvas and Steve prepped to start painting while the rest of his students set up.

He painted for a few minutes, then stopped to walk around, ask everyone about how much work they had left to do, critiqued some paintings, discussed with Kamala what her theme could be and encouraged her to fill out the required sheet so he could approve it. It was nice to be back to teaching. He loved his job, he loved the kids he taught, he loved being able to look at their art and see how they felt about the world, learn the issues they’re willing to take a stand on. Like Billy Kaplan, who was making six portraits, each in a single color of the rainbow, as a platform to speak about LGBT rights.

It was just so, so nice being back. He missed Bucky like hell, of course - he didn’t think he could ever get enough of that man to satisfy him - but even they needed space from time to time, so Steve didn’t feel too guilty anymore about leaving him to work.

Steve went back to his painting of Bucky until someone else came up to him with a question and he had to do the rounds again.

By the end of the hour, he hadn’t made much progress, but it was still something. When Sam walked past and smiled at him through the door’s window, Steve gave him a thumbs up and grinned back.

* * *

 

Steve woke up in the middle of the night in an empty bed. He blinked and glanced around, vision blurry until he managed to gather up enough presence of mind to shove his glasses onto his face. The sheets next to him were cold. Bucky must’ve gotten up a while ago.

Steve yawned and got up, stumbling into the kitchen in search of Bucky. When he entered the room he saw him curled up on the couch, knees drawn up to his chest and tucked under his chin. So cute. This man would kill him through sheer adorableness.

Steve bent down beside him and was slightly surprised to see that Bucky’s eyes were open. “Hey,” he said. “Why’re you in here?”

“Had a nightmare,” Bucky mumbled, hiding part of his face in the couch cushion. “Just wanted some space.”

“Oh.” Steve had no idea how to react to that. He couldn’t remember Bucky ever having a nightmare before - at least, not one he’d told him about anyway. “I can go?”

“No, you can - you can stay.”

“Okay.”

Steve sat on the floor and huddled against the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay. Wanna watch some TV? Sam showed me this new show, it’s pretty mindless.”

Bucky shrugged, and when Steve opened up Netflix and press play, he said quietly, “Steve, did you just call _Parks and Rec_ a ‘new show?’”

“Don’t make fun of my TV-watching habits.”

“Sure thing, Knope.”

Steve glared at him, but still took Bucky’s hand when it dropped off the couch beside him.

* * *

 

They were putting up the Christmas tree together. Steve hadn’t stopped smiling all day.

It had gone perfectly, at first. It was a good day for Bucky - no nightmares, a full nine hours of sleep - and Steve had woken up to the smell of bacon and freshly-made coffee. Bucky was in the kitchen, swaying his hips to the sounds of Christmas carols coming through the radio in the corner, a blanket tied around his neck like a cape.

“When we finally kiss goodnight,” Bucky sang softly, “how I hate going out in the storm, but if you really hold me tight - “

“All the way home I’ll be warm,” Steve joined in, and Bucky turned to smile at him.

“Hey. I was wondering when you’d be up.” Steve crossed the room to plant a kiss on his lips. “I made food.”

“I see that,” Steve said. Bucky turned to face the stove and Steve came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. “Smells good.”

“I was thinking we could put the tree up today.”

Steve beamed and kissed Bucky’s shoulder, down what was left of his arm while Bucky squirmed under him. “Sounds perfect.”

“Stop hangin’ all over me and get a plate, Rogers, you sap.”

After they’d finished eating, then Bucky finally pulled the tree out of its sad little corner and as they started to assemble it, he remarked, “We should get a real tree one of these years.”

Which was how they ended up borrowing Sam’s car and driving out to a tree lot. It was snowing in soft flurries and Steve spent most of the morning staring at Bucky, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, hat dusted with snow, a huge grin on his face. And for about the billionth time since they’d met, Steve wondered what he’d done in a past life to luck into a man like Bucky Barnes.

They meandered through the lot for a couple hours. Not really talking or anything, just quietly enjoying each other’s company in a way they haven’t been able to do in a very long time - maybe since as far back as their first date. Maybe not even then. A timer had been ticking over their heads then too, counting down the minutes until Bucky had to leave for Basic. Now, though? Now they had all the time in the world.

So they walked slowly among the trees until they finally selected one small enough to fit in Steve’s apartment, that smelled like the trees his ma would buy when he was younger, when they had enough money to buy Christmas trees every year. They managed to get it on top of Sam’s car and Bucky drove them back into the city.

“Are you sure you can drive one-handed?” Steve asked for the millionth time, choosing to momentarily forget that Bucky had driven them to the lot just fine.

“It’s doable,” Bucky responded. “‘Sides, not like you know how to drive.”

“That’s cause there’s this great thing called the subway.”

“Not everywhere, city boy.”

They made it back alive and Bucky went to return Sam's car while Steve lugged the tree up three flights of stairs. When he made it back to the apartment, he almost tripped over the casserole sitting on his doorstep. He shook his head at the container and. once the tree was safely inside. took the casserole down to Mrs. Norris.

“You don't need to keep making these casseroles for us,” he told her once she opened the door. Mrs. Norris gave him a look. “You should be feeding yourself.”

“Steven, if you think I'm taking that casserole back, you're mistaken. After everything you two’ve been through, the last thing y'all need to worry about is cooking.”

“I just hate for you to go to any trouble.”

“It's no trouble at all. Just the neighborly thing to do.”

“Steve?” Bucky came into view and grinned. “Hey there. I'm sorry, I don't think we've met?”

“This is Mrs. Norris,” said Steve. “She's the one who's been leaving us the unnecessary casseroles.”

“I'm Bucky Barnes,” Bucky said, stepping forward to shake Mrs. Norris’s hand. “Thanks for the food, Steve here's an awful cook, I woulda starved without you.”

Mrs. Norris threw a smug look at Steve. “You must be his soldier, yes?”

“Well, not a soldier any longer ma'am.”

“Thank you for your service. You ever need something to eat, you let me know. I'm not good for much but I cook.”

“Is this another casserole?” Bucky asked, inspecting the container in Steve's hands.

“Yes sir, it is. Pasta, chicken, and broccoli.”

“Ooh, that sounds amazing.” Bucky grinned at her. “Well if you don't mind, Steve and I were about to set up our Christmas tree.”

“Good to meet you, Bucky.” Mrs. Norris smiled at Steve. “Enjoy that casserole, Steven.”

That woman was too smug for her own good.

“I like her,” Bucky said when they were back in their apartment.

_That's because you're her unknowing co-conspirator._

“She's something, alright.”

They propped the tree up and draped the tree skirt around it. Bucky usually did the lights, but this year he recruited Steve to help put up those boring white lights. Steve scowled at them, then glanced back at the kitchen, where his pretty multicolored lights were draped on top of the cabinets. What a shame. One day, he'd put up the tree himself and use his lights. And if Bucky didn't like it, Bucky could take ‘em down himself.

Steve sighed, turned around to decorate their perfect tree with those horrible white lights, and stopped short when he didn’t see Bucky hunched over their ornament collection.

“Buck?” Steve spun around, confused. “Bucky? Hey, Buck!”

Steve found him in the bathroom, staring at the sink.

“Bucky?” he said carefully, stepping closer. “Buck, you alright?”

Bucky didn't seem to register what he was saying. “I can't wash my hands,” he said in a monotone.

Steve moved slowly, so Bucky could stop him if he needed to, and drew Bucky into a hug. Bucky's arm hung limply by his side.

“I don't know how to help,” Steve murmured, hooking his chin on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky didn't say anything back. “I love you.”

Bucky's arm tentatively curled around Steve. “I cut it off,” he said.

Steve froze. Bucky had never told him how he lost his arm and Steve had never really taken the time to think about it. He hadn’t wanted to.

“I was pinned,” Bucky went on in that small voice. “Under a tank. And I couldn't get out. So I took out my knife and I cut it off.”

Steve was shaking. Damn it, he couldn't help it, hearing - hearing Bucky talk about _that_ with such nonchalance, like it didn't even matter - and Steve could see it in his head, could hear Bucky screaming -

“I'm sorry,” Bucky said quietly. “I didn't mean to make you upset.”

“You didn't.”

“You're crying.”

“I got dust in my eye. I'm allergic, you know that.”

“Steve. I'm sorry.”

Steve hugged him a little tighter. “I'm sorry too. You know, maybe that therapy the doctor recommended - “

Just like that, Bucky had pushed Steve off of him, staring at him with a look of the utmost betrayal. “What?”

“I just thought - “

“I'm not crazy in the head, Steve!”

“I wasn't saying that.”

“That felt like what you were saying when you said I needed a shrink!”

“I didn't,” Steve said, holding out his hands in a gesture of submission. “I just _suggested_ that it might help.”

“I'm not doing it,” Bucky said. “I don't need anyone looking in my head!”

“Fine. Then don't.”

“Fine.”

Bucky raked a hand through his hair. “Can we finish putting the tree up tomorrow? I'm tired.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Bucky didn’t even look at Steve as he brushed past him.

* * *

 

Steve ended up finishing the tree decorating by himself a couple days before Christmas.

The radio was playing NPR, and Bucky was in bed, staring at the wall.

Steve tried to ignore the ache in his heart as he perched his ma’s dented star on top of the tree.

* * *

 

Despite the rough couple of weeks Bucky’d been having, Steve felt good about accepting the invitation to Sam’s New Year’s Eve party. He threw one every year just for teachers from their school and their families, and it was always fun. The party had been one of Steve’s plans for Bucky’s leave way back when, so he didn’t think there’d be any changes. He thought wrong, apparently.

“I’m not going.”

Steve stared at Bucky. “We have to go. I go every year. I confirmed - _twice_ \- that we’d be there. Everyone’s dying to meet you, I’ve told them a lot. Only the good stuff, though, I promise.” Steve grinned a little, but Bucky didn’t respond. “Buck, come on, get outta bed.”

“I’m not going,” Bucky repeated a little more forcefully.

“Sam’s expecting us, Bucky - “

“Then you go. Have fun for once without me dragging you down.”

Steve frowned and sat beside him. “Buck, that’s - I _want_ you to be there. I promised everyone they could finally meet you.”

“Too bad for them.”

“Bucky, please. You were so excited about it before, what happened?”

“I got pinned under a tank.”

Steve sighed. “Okay. Fine. I’ll just...go by myself.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else. He didn’t say anything while Steve got dressed, he didn’t say anything when Steve dug a six-pack out from the back of their fridge, he didn’t say anything as Steve pulled on his coat and opened the door, and he didn’t say anything when Steve left.

Tears stung Steve’s eyes and seemed to freeze on his cheeks as he walked over to Sam’s place. Bucky had always wanted to come to this party. He’d talked about it every year, but he’d never been able to make it. And this year, as they’d been making plans for Bucky’s leave, Bucky swore he’d be there to kiss Steve at midnight.

Steve knew it wasn’t Bucky’s fault he’d been abandoned in the panic of an ambush. He knew that what Bucky went through was traumatic and he was only just starting to process it. He knew it would be difficult on him. He knew that.

But it felt like the man he fell in love with had been left behind in that desert, sometimes. God help him, Steve hated himself for thinking that, and he reminded himself of that gaping hole in his chest that had carved itself a spot after those two officers came to his apartment. Life with any version of Bucky was better than life without him entirely.

He just...he missed the man who wore blankets like capes and wiggled his hips to Christmas carols and whose appearances were becoming less and less frequent.

Steve was pretty thoroughly miserable by the time he got to Sam’s, which Sam, of course, recognized the moment he opened the door.

“What’s up?” he asked, glancing around the hallway. “Where’s Bucky? I showed Sharon a picture but she refuses to believe he looks that good in person.”

“Bucky didn’t want to come,” Steve muttered, pushing past Sam into the apartment. “Brought you some beer.”

There was a rousing cry of “Steve!” and he was faced with his coworkers. Steve put on his best smile, made his way through the crowd and said hello, explained that Bucky had come down with something at the last minute but he says hi, and just generally tried not to burst into tears. Eventually, he made it through the room and snagged a seat in a quiet corner with a beer, just drinking, and half-listening to some of the conversations around him. Honestly, he shouldn’t’ve been surprised when Sam pulled up a chair.

“I thought your boy wanted to experience one of my legendary New Year’s Eve parties for himself.”

“He did. I’m not sure what changed. He’s been...not himself, this past week. He was fine until I suggested he take his doctor’s advice and see a therapist, and he’s barely gotten out of bed since.”

“He probably wasn’t completely fine,” Sam said. “I’m not exactly sure what happened out there, but I know living with the memory of something like that would be tough on anyone. Call up my buddy Rhodes, he’s with the VA. Maybe he can help.”

“I don’t think Bucky would appreciate me shoving therapy options at him right now.”

“Well, that’s true, but I was talking about for you.”

Steve frowned. “I don’t need therapy.”

“It might help. You’ve gone through a lot this past month, and you don’t just immediately recover from that. Bucky was dead. You were ripped out of the grieving process.” Sam shrugged, dug a card out of his wallet and handed it to Steve. “Just keep it in mind. And hey, if Bucky changes his mind and decides he wants some support, the VA has a group that meets twice a week. My friend Dugan goes there, says it really helps to do it in a group instead of one on one.”

“I’ll try talking to Bucky about it,” Steve said as he slipped the card into his pocket. Bucky wouldn’t react well, but Steve wasn’t just going to sit and let him waste away, staring at the walls all the fucking time. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Hey, I’m a guidance counselor, it’s what I do.” Sam grinned at him. “But enough about boyfriends. You see that Rangers game last weekend? Man, we showed those Canadians a thing or two.”

So they talked sports and drank beer and when the ball dropped Sam pecked him on the cheek before shouting, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” and blushing when Steve returned the cheek kiss. Steve actually started to enjoy himself and didn’t wander home until it was nearly two.

Bucky was sitting on the couch when he walked in, and as Steve said hi and stamped the snow off his boots he noticed that Bucky’s eyes were red. Steve carefully moved forward and sat next to him on the couch. “Buck? What’s wrong?”

Bucky looked at him. “I wanted to go with you,” he whispered, and then he broke down in Steve’s arms, sobbing into the thick coat Steve hadn’t removed yet while Steve held onto him as tightly as he could. “I’m sorry,” Bucky cried into his coat, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, Buck, it’s okay,” Steve said, rubbing Bucky’s back. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”

“I w-wanted to meet th-them,” Bucky managed out. “To k-kiss you.”

“Hey.” Steve pulled away and Bucky immediately sat up, scrubbing away the tears on his face so roughly Steve had to grab his hand. “Buck. Three.” Bucky looked up at him. “Two.”

Steve leaned forward and whispered, “One,” before pressing his lips gently against Bucky’s for a few moments and pulling away to rest his forehead against Bucky’s. “Happy New Year,” he murmured.

Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s neck, and Steve held him as they welcomed the first morning of 2017. May it be better than the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't you proud of how much I'm updating? This is unprecedented. Someone sound the alarm. 
> 
> So...hopefully your holiday seasons aren't as crappy as Steve and Bucky's. And if they are (or even if they aren't!), come talk with me on [Tumblr ](http://imhereforgaysuperheroes.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: A showcase, our hero America Chavez, the only landline left in New York, 80s reruns, and as my beta reader put it "a whole lot of depressing shit."

Sam cornered him on the fifth, after Bucky had gone to the school to give Steve some coffee. It was the day of his big showcase, which basically meant he'd be busy all day. He'd seemed appreciative of the coffee, given the kiss he’d planted on Bucky, which made Bucky blush and Steve's class giggle. Bucky's blush was still dusting his cheeks when Sam stopped him.

“Hey, Barnes. Sorry we missed you at the party, Steve said you weren't feeling great.”

Bucky stared at Sam. “Uh - yeah.”

“Got something for you.” Sam pressed a folded up pamphlet into Bucky's hand. “Might help.”

Frowning, Bucky unfolded the pamphlet.  _ ‘Understanding PTSD.’ _

“I don't have PTSD,” he said, trying to hand the pamphlet back to Sam, who ignored it. “But thanks.”

“Just read it, would you? And, if you did happen to have PTSD, a buddy of mine recommends the support group at the VA.”

“But I don’t.”

“Of course not. I was just saying that, if you did, that’s something you might want to look into.” Sam smiled at him and squeezed his arm. “Good to have you back, Barnes.”

Bucky managed a tentative smile and beat a hasty retreat.

_ Nothing’s wrong with me, nothing’s wrong with me, nothing’s wrong with me. _

Bucky wasn’t fucked in the head. He didn’t have hypervigilance, didn’t freak out when he heard a loud noise. He was just tired. It was hard to sleep with the pain in his arm and the nightmares. Once he caught up on some sleep he’d be fine. No group therapy could help him with that.

When he got back home he folded the pamphlet up as tightly as he could and stuffed it in the back of Steve’s dresser.

Bucky was supposed to go to the showcase with Steve, so he took a nap and then started getting dressed. He had to borrow some stuff from Steve because while they’d started replenishing his civilian wardrobe, he didn’t have anything fancier than jeans and a button-down. So he stole one of Steve’s blazers and hoped it would make up for the jeans. He took a little more time than normal brushing down his hair since there’d be so many people -

There’d be. There’d be 200, Steve had said they could expect up to 200, 200 people coming up to Steve and Bucky and talking and surrounding them -

Bucky sat on the tile.

It might not be that bad if Steve hadn’t set up the entire thing. If Bucky wasn’t expected to go around with him and talk to all his students so he could grade them and then there’d be the families who wanted to chat and Bucky would be stuck there when he could be alone in the apartment, plenty of space completely to himself.

Alone.

Jeans. Bucky couldn’t wear jeans. Steve was wearing one of his work suits, everyone would be fancy and they’d be staring at him and whispering about the cripple who came in jeans.

Bucky glanced down at the billowing left sleeve of Steve’s blazer. A few tears squeezed past his eyes. 

_ No no no he can’t he can’t he can’t everyone will be watching him they’ll be judging him they’ll wonder what Steve is doing with him he’s not good enough he’ll never be good enough HE CAN’T _

Somewhere in the distance, the phone was ringing. Bucky ignored it. It felt like he would collapse from the effort of lifting himself to his feet. Instead, he ripped off the blazer, threw it across the room, slammed the bathroom door shut, and curled up on the tile, carefully avoiding the sight of his stump.

He had to go. Steve was expecting him, Steve would be waiting -

Steve was probably glad he wasn’t there. Didn’t need Bucky dragging him down any further.

Bucky smacked his head to get it to shut up. It didn’t listen.

Steve loved him, he knew that, Steve didn’t care if he had two arms or no arms. Steve loved him.

Steve  _ had  _ loved him. But now? What was left for him to love?

_ I’m a good person _ , Bucky told himself.

Yeah, sure.

_ I...am. _

You killed people. Even your own unit left you to die. Why would they do that if there was anything worth loving in you?

Bucky whimpered and curled up into a tighter ball. The phone kept ringing. He wished it would shut up.

* * *

 

 

“Buck?” 

Two hard knocks on the door. “Bucky? Buck, what’s going on? Why didn’t you come to the showcase? You said you’d meet me there at six.”

Bucky stared silently at the sink.

“Fine. Whatever. Don’t talk to me. I had a great time tonight without you, anyway.” Steve stomped away from the bathroom door.

_ Told you he would _ , Bucky’s brain chirped.

* * *

 

“Bucky?” Two more knocks, this time quiet. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I shouldn’t’ve said that. I was miserable the whole time, I was so worried about you. I called here about a million times and you didn’t answer. So when Sam went to check and said you were in the bathroom - “ Sam had been there? “ - I was just annoyed. Not at you, at me, for getting so worked up and - I’m just so sorry, Bucky.”

Steve sighed and slumped against the door. “I”m so out of my depth here. I don’t know what you’re going through and I hate not being able to help. It feels like no matter what I do I just end up making things worse for you. I’m sorry. I just…” Another heavy sigh. “Can I come in?”

Despite the screaming match going on in his brain, Bucky reached up and managed to unlock the door without actually getting up. Steve thankfully took it as the invitation it was. He looked good. His shirt brought out his eyes.

Bucky started crying without warning. He wanted to go. He’d wanted to see Steve like this, except smiling and happy instead of worn out, he’d wanted to see all the art Steve had been talking about for over a month -

And now the opportunity was just gone. He’d never be able to do it. Because he couldn’t get up off the fucking bathroom floor.

Steve came in slowly and silently, closing the door behind him and lowering himself to the tile behind Bucky, coming up behind him and curling an arm around Bucky’s waist, pulling him against Steve’s body. Bucky hadn’t even noticed how cold he was until he hit Steve’s warm skin and he wrapped Steve’s arms tighter around him, suddenly desperate for warmth.

“I love you,” Steve murmured in his ear. “I feel like I don’t say it enough, but I really do. You and I, we’re meant to be, Buck. We’ll be together for a long time. Till the end of the line, right? Well let me tell you, Buck, we haven’t reached the end yet. I’m gonna stick around no matter what, okay?”

Bucky wanted to believe him so badly, but that one niggling part of his brain that refused to shut up wouldn’t stop chirping,  _ How do you know? How do you know he’ll be here? How do you know he’s not just biding his time until he doesn’t feel so guilty about leaving you? _

Bucky curled further into Steve and hoped he read Bucky’s mind and could reassure him. But Steve couldn’t, so he didn’t, and Bucky kept staring at that fucking sink long after Steve had fallen asleep behind him. 

He woke up in bed, blankets tucked around him. Neither he nor Steve mentioned it.

* * *

 

Bucky went to the VA for the first time in March.

He’d been having a nightmare, reliving the ambush, firing his gun at their attackers until he ran out of bullets, so he threw the gun away and began attacking them with his bare hands, breaking their legs and choking them -

And he’d woken up to Steve gasping for air as Bucky’s fist gripped his throat.

He’d run out and called Sam’s VA contact immediately.

Rhodes actually answered the phone at three in the morning, and Bucky talked to him for nearly two hours as he roamed the streets of Brooklyn until he’d managed to stop shaking. Rhodes ran the support group Sam had mentioned and told Bucky it was meeting at four that day. He was welcome to come. Bucky said he’d be there.

He went back home.

Steve, like the idiot he was, kept asking if  _ Bucky  _ was alright, if  _ he  _ needed anything, like there wasn’t a purple ring blossoming on Steve’s throat. Bucky said he was fine, told Steve to go to sleep, and laid down on the couch, resigning himself to another sleepless night. He could hear Steve’s restless shifting in the bedroom for hours afterward.

* * *

 

Bucky took a sip of his coffee as he watched a woman in a tan trench coat and skinny jeans exit the VA across the street.

The support group started in four minutes and thirty-six seconds. Bucky hadn’t managed to make it past the coffee shop across from the building.

It would be admitting something was wrong. That it wasn’t just occasional nightmares and feeling stuck in place for hours. There was something wrong with him. A piece of his mind that the war had taken along with his arm.

Bucky hated being damaged.

But, he reasoned with himself, if he didn’t do something about this, how long would it be before he tried to attack Steve in his sleep again? What if he didn’t wake up in time? What if he hurt someone else? How long would it take for Bucky to become a complete hermit, staying shut up in Steve’s apartment and interacting with nobody but him?

He didn’t want to live like that. Even if it sucked, he had to do something to try and change it.

Just as he had worked up the energy to leave the coffee shop, a young woman dropped into the seat across from him. She jabbed her thumb at the VA across the street. “You trying to decide whether or not you should go?”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky mumbled, shifting in his seat.

“Me too.” The girl met his eyes. “America Chavez.”

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Bucky?”

“America?”

“Point taken.” America glanced at the VA again. “I’ve got a friend still over there, you know. She’s trying to make me get help. I’d rather just get a stiff drink but she’s worried, so what can you do?”

“I hurt my boyfriend,” Bucky found himself murmuring. “I was having a nightmare and I woke up choking him. I can’t just ignore it anymore.”

“Yeah.” America leaned forward. “Tell you what. I go if you go.”

“Um, okay?”

“Okay.” America stood up and looked at Bucky expectantly. “Let’s go.”

Together they managed to cross the street and enter the VA building. The guy in the meeting room who seemed to be in charge smiled at them and said, “Come on in, guys, we’re just doing introductions. No need to talk if you don’t want.”

Bucky and America both took seats in the back. It wasn’t much, but at least Bucky was doing something instead of just letting things happen to him.

After the meeting, America shook Bucky’s hand. “Better see you here next week, chico,” she said with a pointed look.

“Yeah, I’ll be here.”

America shoved her hands in her pockets and pushed out of the building. Bucky scrubbed a hand through his hair before following her.

Steve was pacing when he got back to the apartment. “Hey,” he said, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “Are you okay? I came home and you weren’t here - “

“I’m fine, Steve,” Bucky said. “I went to a VA meeting.”

And it was all worth it for the smile that broke out on Steve’s face, the way he tugged Bucky into his arms and hugged him so tightly Bucky could feel Steve’s chest rise and fall with his breathing. “I love you,” Steve said with the world’s brightest grin, and then he actually picked Bucky up and spun him while Bucky scrambled to grab onto Steve with his arm and started laughing in spite of himself. “You amaze me, Bucky Barnes!”

“Sap,” Bucky giggled, feeling lighter than he had in years. Okay. Maybe this whole therapy thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

* * *

 

Of course, it didn’t fix things. Bucky had a nightmare that same night, and he was still terrified he’d end up hurting Steve again. But it did help. At the very least, it  _ felt  _ like he was doing something to fix whatever was going on in his head, even if it didn’t actually do anything.

Bucky was reading a book (a collection of all the New York Times articles from World War II, one of his Christmas presents from Steve) when the phone rang. “Still can’t believe you have an actual landline, Rogers,” he said, picking up the phone while Steve muttered about how Bucky never complained about his old apartment when rent-control was brought up.

“Barnes and Rogers residence, the only one left in New York to have an actual landline,” he said jokingly into the phone, thoroughly enjoying Steve’s scowl.

“James?”

Bucky’s smile slid off his face. “Nat?” Steve’s face softened into a look of concern.

“Hey.”

“Um, hi.”

“...How are you? Haven’t heard from you since you were in the hospital.”

“I’m fine. I’m going to a support group now, so that’s been helping. With some of the mental stuff.”

“Right.”

“You guys back yet?”

“Yeah, we just got back to New York. We’re here for the rest of the week, and then it’s on to Colorado.”

“Right. Colorado.”

“Yeah. Anyway, we were thinking of having a little...thing. Nothing fancy, just hanging out at this building Clint bought - “

“Clint has a building?”

“Apparently. He says he stays there when he's on leave. It’s just going to be us, but we thought you might want to come. You could even bring Steve along, Kate and Gabe haven’t met him in person.”

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Bucky said, smiling reassuringly at Steve, who was growing more worried by the second.

“Did you ever end up popping the question?”

“No,” Bucky said. “Probably won’t for a little bit. Still trying to adjust to all this, you know?”

“Not really. But it sounds nice, I’m glad you’re happy.” Natasha cleared her throat. “Okay. Just call me back if you decide you want to come.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Bucky hung the phone back on its cradle. “Was that Natasha?” Steve asked immediately. “What did she want?”

“Relax, Steve. The unit’s having a little get-together thing, before they get transferred to Colorado.”

Steve frowned. “Colorado?”

Shit.

“Uh - yeah.”

“Why would they go to Colorado?”

“That’s...sort of where our unit is stationed. Fort Carson.”

“You were going to move to Colorado? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was going to Steve, I swear. It’s just not the kind of thing you can say in a letter. I was waiting for when I got back.”

Steve kept staring at him. “You were just going to leave?”

“Shit, no, of course not. I - I wanted you to come with me.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth several times. “Oh,” he finally said.

“But it doesn’t even matter now, Steve,” Bucky said, walking over to the couch and rubbing Steve’s neck with one hand. “We’re both here in Brooklyn, together. We don’t even have to worry about that.”

“Okay.” Steve chewed on his lip and Bucky swatted him lightly to get him to stop. “I woulda gone with you, Buck,” he murmured. “I’d go anywhere for you, you know that.”

“I do,” Bucky said. “Which is why I’d never ask. Anyway, the get-together thing. Natasha was wondering if you wanted to come along.”

Steve started chewing on his lip again but stopped when Bucky glared. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I haven’t been able to talk to them since...what happened.”

“It wasn’t their fault, Steve. They could’ve died if they’d stayed to try and get me out. And at that point, they thought I was dead anyway.” Steve’s eyes got sad, and Bucky pressed a soft kiss to his nose in an attempt to combat that. “You were friends with them before. Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed,” Steve mumbled. He scrubbed at his face with one hand before asking, “Do you want to go?” Bucky nodded. “Then I’ll go. I might not last the entire time, but...I’ll try.”

“Thank you. I mean it, Steve, thank you, for everything. All of this. Letting me move in with you, not even making me pay rent - “

“What part of rent-controlled don’t you understand?” Steve muttered. Bucky smiled and kissed his forehead.

“Thank you for not pushing me to do anything I wasn’t ready for. For being so patient with me. For dealing with all the shit I’ve been working through.”

“Your shit is my shit,” said Steve. “That’s motherfucking love.”

“You swear like a fucking sailor, you know that?”

“You’re one to talk,” Steve retorted.

Bucky shook his head good-naturedly. “Thank you for agreeing to go out on a date with a completely random stranger about to leave for Army basic.”

“Thank you for not being a murderer.”

Bucky sighed and dropped his head down to rest his forehead on Steve’s shoulder. “I’ll probably never be him again, you know,” he said quietly.

“And I’ll never be that guy who had to hold two jobs to make a dent in all his medical bills. We’re different people now. We’ve changed.”

“Yeah. We have.”

* * *

 

It was Clint who opened the door when Bucky knocked, and he smiled brightly at both of them. “Barnes, man, good to see you,” he said, drawing Bucky into a one-armed hug. “We’re all glad you could make it.” He released Bucky so he could shake Steve’s hand. “Good to see you again, Steve.”

“You too, Clint,” Steve said with a strained smile. He held out the pizza box. “We brought food.”

“Aw, pizza. You’ve won the keys to my heart, Rogers. Come on in.”

They walked and there was a flurry of hellos as all of Bucky’s unit stood to welcome them. Bucky glanced at Steve when he was midway through the hugs. He was introducing himself to Kate, looking slightly upset, but not like he was about to storm out anytime soon. Bucky was turning back to address Gabe when Natasha caught his eye, standing outside of the pack. He smiled, excused himself to Gabe, and went over to her.

“Hey,” he said. Her eyes flickered over the pinned sleeve of his button-down and she bit down on her lip.

“You made it.”

“Yeah.”

She looked at him. “I didn’t think you were going to come.”

“Of course I did.” Bucky tugged her into a hug and Natasha’s arms curled tentatively around him. “You’re my best friend, you know that?”

“I’m so sorry,” Natasha whispered into his shirt. “James, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know - “

“Exactly. You didn’t know. So don’t blame yourself.”

Natasha let go of him.

They all settled on the couches. Steve sat pressed against Bucky’s side, holding his hand with a death grip. An awkward silence stretched on - everyone was just staring while pretending not to stare at Bucky’s arm.

“So Steve,” Kate said, finally breaking the silence, “how did you and Bucky meet again?”

“At the café where I worked,” Steve said shortly. Bucky waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

“It was just a couple hours before I went to Basic,” he filled in. “I was getting coffee and I saw this hot guy and thought, ‘What do I have to lose?’, right? So I ask him out and he actually says yes and here we are, more than three years later.”

“That’s sweet,” Kate said, smiling.

“Yeah, we like to think so.”

“Do you still work there, Steve?”

“No.”

Silence again.

Shit, this was more awkward than Bucky’d anticipated. He knew there’d be a bit of discomfort - they didn’t have any choice in leaving him but they still left. He still had to trek through that fucking cold desert, wondering all the while if he’d ever see Steve again. He’d still come back with one less limb. And he knew Steve was having a hard time forgiving them for that. Hell, Bucky’d had a tough time with that too.

But he thought this get together would clear the air. They were still his unit. They were still his friends. He missed them, and he wanted to get past everything that had happened before they left for Colorado.

As they all carefully avoided eye contact, it seemed less and less likely that was going to happen.

“Steve,” Morita said cautiously, “Barnes told us you had some stuff going in a gallery?”

“Yeah.”

“Pepper Potts owns a few galleries in Manhattan,” Bucky interjected. “Steve met her because she’s married to Tony Stark, who’s friends with one of the other teachers in Steve’s school, and when she saw some of his stuff she guaranteed him a few spots in her next gallery opening. It’s supposed to be some fancy shit too, all these celebrities are coming.  _ And  _ she’s giving him an exhibition date in September, so it’s gonna be just his work. Stevie’s gonna be a famous artist.”

“I think bragging about Rogers is his base setting,” Clint muttered to Natasha, who smirked.

Steve stood suddenly, making Bucky jolt a bit. He was staring at the floor. “I need to go,” he said sharply. “Buck, I’m sorry - I need to go,” he repeated, heading for the door. Bucky jumped up and hurried after him.

“Steve, wait - “

“I can still picture it,” Steve whispered frantically, whipping around to face Bucky. He looked like he was on the verge of crying. “I can see it in my head, Buck and I don’t - I don’t know how you can just sit there and a-act like everything’s normal!”

“It’s not normal. Stevie.” Bucky grabbed his hand. “None of this is normal. But these are my friends, people I’ve risked my life with. I’m not going to leave.”

“They left you,” Steve spat. “I wasn’t even going to have a body to bury. Do you - do you have any idea what I went through? You were  _ dead _ , you weren’t supposed to come back, you were just  _ gone  _ \- “ He was cut off by a hiccuping sob. “It was s-so hard to imagine my life without y-you. Just an em-empty grave, and a c-couple photos. And th-they’re the ones who - who just left - ” Steve shook his head wildly. “I gotta go, Buck. I gotta go.”

“I thought you were going to give them a chance,” Bucky said helplessly.

“I just can’t stop seeing it, Buck. I l-lived in hell for a week. And it’s their fault. I’ll never be able to live not knowing what it f-feels like to grieve f-for you, but I don’t have to s-sit in the room with the people responsible.”

Steve left before Bucky could try to reason with him.

Bucky sighed and walked back into the living room. “How much of that did you hear?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, just about all of it,” said Clint.

“He doesn’t mean it. He’s just still working through everything, he’ll see reason.”

“Not like he’s wrong,” Gabe muttered.

“Guys, it wasn’t your fault. It was the fault of those soldiers who ambushed us, okay? It was all you could do to escape with your own lives, and I’m glad you did because I’d hate to lose any one of you. And it was even a good thing, in some ways.” Five pairs of eyes looked at him in varying levels of incredulity. “I mean, yeah, I’m kinda fucked up now, and there’s the whole arm thing, but - but now I get to be with Steve. Live with him. I’ve never been able to do that, not even when I was stationed in Brooklyn. It’s nice to be with him without counting down in my head until I have to head back to base, y’know?”

They all stared at him, and Bucky squirmed. “We should watch some TV or something. Barton, you have any coke? All Steve gets is Pepsi.”

“Pepsi?  And you wanted to marry that guy?” Bucky rolled his eyes. “It’s in the kitchen.”

They drank soda and watched reruns of  _ M*A*S*H  _  and Bucky left a few hours later feeling like there was a lot of healing left to be done, but they were getting there.

Steve was in his Brooklyn College sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, watching  _ The Golden Girls _ when Bucky got back. He didn’t glance over as Bucky plopped down beside him.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Steve sighed and  whispered, “No.” Bucky was sitting on the wrong side to wrap his arm around Steve, so he just took his hand and rested his head on Steve’s shoulder.

He’d tried to be annoyed with Steve for leaving, but he just couldn’t do it. If their positions were swapped, and he’d been the one to receive the Army notice, grieve for Steve, and then Steve had asked him to hang out with anyone who had a hand in that, Bucky never would’ve made it into the building. He’d been  _ dead _ . Steve had been preparing for his  _ funeral _ . Wounds like that took a while to heal.

“I’m here,” Bucky murmured. “Not going anywhere.”

Steve held onto his hand a little tighter.

Yeah, they had a ways to go. But at least they were healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is almost over. That's weird. Thank you guys for being so awesome over the course of this story, and hopefully I can wrap it all up in a way you guys enjoy. So yeah. Thank you :)
> 
> Come talk to me [Tumblr! ](http://imhereforgaysuperheroes.tumblr.com/)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: An epilogue, an art exhibition, something Bucky Barnes has waited too goddamn long to do, Motherfucking Love™, and a happy ending.

~ Three Years Later ~

 

“Ladies and gents, the Stark Gallery is honored to feature one of the most famous up-and-coming artists in New York. You know him as that dude with the really neat paintings - I know him as my really dorky friend. But no matter what, I think we can all agree he's pretty freaking talented. Steve Rogers, folks.”

Steve blushed as he stepped out on stage and Bucky whooped at him, clapping wildly. Steve could hear the faint whir of his prosthetic mixed in with the applause.

“Hi there,” he said into the mic. “Thanks, Tony, that was quite the introduction. There’s just a few things I’d like to say before we get started. I'm so thankful to Tony and Pepper for all the opportunities they've given me and the faith they've had in my art. I wouldn't be here without them. I'd also like to thank my boyfriend, Bucky, who's stuck with me through thick and thin and who's always been my biggest cheerleader. All this is for you, Buck.” Bucky beamed at him.

“These paintings are really near and dear to my heart,” Steve continued. “They come from a time in my life filled with confusion, frustration, and helplessness, but also, above all else, love. These past three years have held a lot of that, and this collection is really about sticking with the people you love no matter how bad things get, or what curveballs life throws you. It means a lot to me, and hopefully by the end of the night, it means something to you too. I’d hate to keep you, so thank you all for coming, and...I hope you enjoy.”

Steve jumped down from the stage as people started applauding again and waded through the crowd to get to Bucky, who was still grinning.

“Hey,” he said, kissing Steve. “How's it feel to be famous?”

“Weird,” Steve said, glancing around at all the people surrounding them, who were just now starting to fan out around the gallery. “I don't know any of these people.”

“Well, remember me when you get called the next Salvador Dali,” said Bucky.

“Please, our styles are nothing alike.”

“It was a joke, Steve. I don't know anything about Salvador Dali.”

“When we get back home, remind me to educate your uncultured ass.”

“You love my ass, if last night is any indication - “

Steve covered Bucky's mouth with his hand as two very important-looking people passed by. “I hate you.”

Bucky smirked at him.

“Rogers!” Sam called as he walked up them, beaming. “Looking good, man.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Hey, I saw Natasha on my way over. I thought she was in Budapest?”

“She got back last night,” said Bucky. “Clint called me this morning groaning about jet lag.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like Barton. If they ever finish their world tour, we should all hang out again.”

“We should,” Steve agreed. He and Natasha had patched things up over the past couple years, once her enlistment was up and she decided to leave the Army. His relationship with the unit would probably never be back to what it was, but time and space had helped to heal things.

“Is the rest of your unit here too?” Sam asked Bucky.

“Just Nat, Barton, and Bishop. Morita’s on vacation in France and Jones just had his kid.” Bucky slid his hand into Steve's and Steve ran his thumb along the grooves of the metal plates. Another reason to thank Stark.

“Oh yeah, I saw pictures on Facebook. Absolutely adorable.” Sam glanced around. “Well, I wanna check out all this art. See y'all at the after-party.”

“See you, Sam.” Bucky watched him leave, then turned back to Steve. He looked so happy, happier than Steve had seen him in a while. The past few years hadn't been easy on either of them between the nightmares, a cancer scare, and a boatload of therapy. But here they were, still standing.

“Wanna wander?” Bucky asked, tucking his hair behind his ear. Steve kissed him before agreeing.

Bucky had seen all of Steve’s paintings in the gallery, but he still took his time as he walked past, examining each and every one thoroughly before stepping forward to the next one. They made their way to the back of the gallery, where there weren’t nearly as many people. Bucky stopped in front of one wall.

It was a series of three paintings Steve had done. The first showed two men sitting on either side of a bathroom door, one drawn tight into a ball and the other, slumped with exhaustion, beginning to stand up. The second showed the first man glancing behind him as the door began to open. All that was visible of the second man was his legs, and even those were partially obscured by the door. In the third, the two men were kneeling on the tile together, caught in a tight embrace.

“It’s gorgeous, Steve,” Bucky murmured. He’d fallen silent for the past several minutes. “I don’t think that’s quite how it went, though. You were definitely crying.”

Steve shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. “If anyone was crying, it was you, Barnes.”

“Um, excuse you. I’m a masculine man. I show no emotion.”

“You’re a lot of things, alright,” Steve muttered. “Emotionally stunted is not one of them.”

Bucky turned to him, smiling softly, and said, “Will you marry me?”

“Sure, Buck,” Steve murmured without thinking; then his brain caught up and his mouth dropped open. “Wait, wha - “

“Will you marry me?” Bucky repeated calmly.

“I - what - I - um - what - “

“Kinda looking for a yes or no here, Stevie.”

Steve spluttered. “I thought you didn’t want to get married?”

“Well, I do. Starting to think you don’t, though.”

“NO!” Steve shouted, causing Bucky to jump. “Sorry, no - I mean, I do, I want to marry you.”

Bucky’s face broke into a blinding grin. “Really?”

“Of course, you idiot.”

Bucky tugged him in for a deep, frantic kiss. “I had this all planned out,” he breathed out before kissing Steve again. “Was gonna...take you to Coney Island...ask you on the beach.”

“Cheesy.”

Bucky shrugged, and kissed him again. He spun them around and pressed Steve against the wall, metal hand fisted in his tuxedo jacket.

“Sheesh, PDA much?”

Bucky sheepishly dropped his hold on Steve's jacket and turned to face Kate and America. “What can I say? I got one of those faces, Steve can't help himself.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Steve, the blush crawling further up his face. “Um...We just got engaged. Us. Engaged. To be married.”

Bucky held up their entwined hands and said, “Motherfucking love right here.”

“Oh my god!”

“Way to lock that down, Barnes.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” said Bucky, pressing his hand against the small of Steve’s back, “my  _ fiancé _ and I are going to go find an empty spot to make out in.”

“See you at the after-party,” Steve said with a grin before Bucky whisked him away, and they ran through the gallery in search of a more secluded spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So, that's the end. Thank you all so much for sticking with this story, and leaving all your wonderful comments - I'm not sure I would've finished without your encouragement. 
> 
> Big thanks to my beta, Genevieve, who I Motherfucking Love. 
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr ](http://imhereforgaysuperheroes.tumblr.com/)


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